


The Stuff of Nightmares

by Louffox



Category: Jacksepticeye RPF, Markiplier RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Funny, Hurt/Comfort, Lore - Freeform, M/M, Slow Build, mythological creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-25 11:40:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 32,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4959271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louffox/pseuds/Louffox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living with Jack was weird. Nothing really strange enough to call for serious concern or thought, but... he had some very odd quirks. But, this was Jack, right? And Mark knew him for years, and they knew everything about each other, Right? Well...</p><p>How well read are you on mythological creatures?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No More Lemons

**Author's Note:**

> OCTOBER  
> IT'S THE SPOOPIEST MONTH  
> SO NIGHT CREATURES GALORE
> 
> I love this mythology and I love these two nerds so what more could you want?
> 
> I am planning to update on Tuesdays and maybe Thursdays as well! Look out then! As for the story- this will be both serious and funny and cute and comfort and just all the feels, really. Let's get into this.

Living with Jack was far stranger than Mark had ever dreamed.

 

He didn't regret inviting him to move in, not even a little. It made more sense- Mark hated living alone, he acknowledged that his mental state suffered when he lived alone, and Jack moved to LA and needed a place to live. Two birds with one stone. Right? Right.

 

Well...

 

Jack was an odd roommate.

 

Living with someone new always took a little time to get acclimated to. They always started out a little overly polite- trying too hard to not step on each other's toes- and then slowly shifted back toward the way they wanted to live. Compromises were made, and they discovered each other's habits and tics.

 

For example, Mark had always left the low night light on above the stove, while Jack was unaware that ovens even had lights. In that case, they erred to Mark's preference. And Jack tended to leave mugs of coffee with a tiny bit in the bottom everywhere, which initially irritated Mark, but he got over it fairly quickly.

 

They started out keeping their dishes separate, but eventually became comfortable enough to use each other's things. The same went with food, linens, and quilts. Their items mixed until even they were unclear who's things were who's.

 

But there were some really strange things about Jack. Not quirky habits, but true oddities.

 

The lemon incident, for example.

 

It was a typically hot LA day, and Mark had a hankering for Arnold Palmer on the deck. He went out and got a few groceries for supper, and picked up iced tea mix and lemons to make his own half-and-half drink. He squeezed a generous number of lemons into the mixed iced tea until he was satisfied with the taste, then poured two tall, cold glasses.

 

"Jack!" he hollered, carefully making his way to the sliding glass door. "Drinks on the deck! Come get some vitamin D!" He didn't particularly worry if he was recording- if he was, he could easily cut Mark's shout out. Or he could even leave it in, and the viewers would just take amusement from it.

 

Apparently he wasn't recording, as he came downstairs fairly soon. Mark had settled in his favorite deck chair, and had the iPad out to check his tumblr and twitter tags. Jack plopped down beside him, grumbling something about the bright sun, picked up his drink and took a big swig-

 

-and immediately spewed it everywhere. Mark cried out in surprise, snatching his iPad up and away from the spray. Jack retched and coughed, spitting and making distressed noises.

 

"The fuck is this?" he cried, eyes watering, still choking.

 

Mark burst into laughter at the unexpected reaction, putting his hands over his mouth to try to stifle it. Rude to laugh at the plight of another, but it was pretty funny. "It's just Arnold Palmer."

 

"Arnold what? I thought it was iced tea," Jack said with a horrified shiver.

 

"It’s just- iced tea and lemonade mixed together."

 

Jack just shook his head and wiped at his mouth. He suddenly looked clammy and pale. "I- er- I mean, thanks for the drink, super nice of you, but I probably should've told you I'm really allergic to lemon."

 

"What?" Mark cried, sobering up. He jumped to his feet. "How allergic? Can you breathe?"

 

"Not that kind of allergic," Jack groaned. "We don't need to, like, go to the hospital or anything. I just... I'm probably gonna be pretty sick the rest of the day," he mumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face.

 

"Shit. Man, I'm so sorry," Mark sighed.

 

"No, it's my fault, I hadn't told you."

 

Mark was amazed at just how ill Jack became- he spent the rest of the day dozing in his room and making infrequent trips to the bathroom. Mark heard the unmistakable sound of his stomach emptying, and went in to bring him a bottle of water and more apologies.

 

So that was weird. Mark had never heard of people being allergic to lemons, but he was careful to accommodate for it from then on.

 

And then there was the moth thing.

 

Jack and Mark were returning home after an evening at the gym, both of them shivering from their post-swim wet hair in the cool night air. They were taking their shoes off when Mark was startled. Something flitted at his face.

 

A small white moth had made it in the door with them.

 

Mark swatted at it with a scowl, irritated, and Jack _howled_.

 

"Leave her alone!" Jack cried, jumping to his feet. He reached out and delicately caught it in cupped hands on the first try.

 

"It's just a moth," Mark said, baffled at Jack's reaction.

 

"Wasn't hurting you none," Jack argued. "Open the door." Mark opened it and stepped back, and Jack walked back out a few feet into the cold, before reaching up and opening his hands, letting the moth fly free. He stared after it for a long moment before turning and heading back inside.

 

"I wanna order Thai from that place down Beech Street," Jack decided, removing his shoes and thumbing through his phone. Mark just shook his head. Weirdo. But Thai did sound good.

 

Jack frequently roamed the house at night, aimlessly, just wandering around. Mark asked him several times why- he just shrugged.

 

Whenever they went to Denny's, he would drink the tiny creamer cups with such enthusiasm ("This is the best shit since sliced bread, cream in a little tiny happy mouthful, I fucking love these!") that Mark never stopped him.

 

Sometimes he didn't just roam the house- sometimes he left. Mark didn't know where, but he never came home dirty or high or drunk. He never asked- he suspected that Jack missed his space in Ireland, and it was just a private time of peace in the relatively fresh air, under the light-polluted LA sky. It seemed like a sort of personal thing, so he never brought it up, just let him do his thing.

 

 


	2. The Cali Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I'd update on Wednesdays, right? And this is totally close enough to Wednesday. I can see it from here. I'm just gonna go for it.
> 
> I have to say, I'm totally blown away by the reception to this! I love reading the comments from you all, and I had initially planned to answer EVERY LAST ONE but there were so many and I'm just wowed because you guys are really nice. And I'm pleased to see how many folks have no clue what's up and coming. This is a pretty unique mythology. I love the random and strange collection of characteristics it has. High fives to those of you who know what it is! High fives to those of you who are just scratching your heads! High fives ALL AROUND! *wha-pish*

Once, when they were both exceedingly inebriated, Mark swiped Jack's hat and plopped it on his own head. Jack promptly lost his shit.

" _Gimmiebackmytarncap_!"

"Fight me," Mark cackled, leaning back out of reach and holding the hat onto his head.

"Seriously, give it back! Right now!"

"Nope. I think it looks better on me anyways," Mark teased.

Jack's pupils looked tiny and his blue eyes were angry. They were so mesmerisingly blue. The bluest blue to ever blue.

"You can't just- c'mon, I need that!"

"I want to wear it tonight, I think."

"This is so not funny. I need my tarn- my hat!"

"Your what?"

"My hat! Gimmie!" He lunged forward, nearly smacking his face into Mark's face, and managed to snatch his hat back. His eyes were huge and angry and so  _so_ blue.

He slapped his hat back on his head and glared at Mark. "Mine."

Mark snorted and went to piss. He was far too drunk.

When Wade got married, Jack and Mark went to Cincinnati to the wedding, and shared a hotel room. It was peak summer, and Mark didn't sleep well- he woke up several times, and was plagued by bad dreams all night.

At one point, he was jerked from a frightened dream by Jack shaking him. His Irish roommate was standing over his bed, looking tired and irate.

"Quit with the nightmares, you're keeping me up," Jack scolded him. Mark mumbled that he'd try harder, and dozed off again. Or maybe he'd never woken up, and Jack was just a part of the dream.

So Mark thought he was odd, but okay. None of his oddities were harmful or cause for much concern. Nothing to put any serious consideration into, right?

 

(( _Wrong. wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong I am literally living with a monster_ ))

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

Jack hadn’t yet told him.

 

Mark suspected he wouldn’t ever have told him.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

Mark found out.

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They were having lunch, watching TV. It was an episode of Grimm recorded from the previous night. They had been living together for five months, one week, and three days. They had recorded over two dozen collab videos, four live action shorts, and done two livestreams. They had a load of jeans in the washing machine, a mix of both of their clothes, and they didn’t know who’s plates their tuna sandwiches were on, nor who’s bowl the watermelon they shared was in. It was August 19th, 1:32 PM. Jack sat on the left side of the couch, beside the end table, and Mark sat on the right, closest to the wall, up against a bookshelf loaded with games and movies. Mark was wearing socks; Jack wasn’t.

Jack hadn’t experienced a proper LA teeth-rattling earthquake yet.

 

He was

wearing

his hat.

 

It didn’t build slowly, or give any warning. The world was still. And then it wasn’t.

Mark startled, but quickly set his plate on the floor and gripped the couch. Jack hollered in surprise, throwing his plate and folding his arms over his head protectively. The house rumbled and shook- things rattled and crashed everywhere. Mark flinched when a movie landed on his head.

Then the bookshelf came down.

Jack was clear of it, on the farthest end of the couch. Mark was directly beneath it. Their massive movie and game collection came down first, burying him, and then the bookcase itself bumped against the wall once, twice, and then came down.

He had cringed from the DVD and game cases, and thrown his hands up reflexively. The heavy wooden structure crashed into his hands, elbows, shoulders, ribs, then it hit the back of the couch and tilted, the other side hitting the ground.

 

Mark was trapped pinned crushed struck hurt hurt hurt

 

“ _Jay-zus christ_! Mark! Fuck! Are you okay?” Jack was shouting. Mark couldn’t see him. He didn’t dare move. He couldn’t move.

“I can’t get out,” Mark said, panting with fear. His heart raced and his body was _hurt_.

“Are you hurt?”

“Yes,” Mark whimpered. He could only take short, rapid breaths- his chest was half crushed against the back of the couch, and his left arm was pinned at the arm rest.

“Okay, okay, I’m… I’m gonna get you out of there.”

The bookshelf was a lovely and heavy thing. It wasn’t a plain-Jane bookshelf; it was a fancy carved shelf with dark wood and flourishes and stops and full of games and movies that still rained down on Mark every few moments. He didn’t even know if the earthquake was still happening.

It was a lovely and heavy thing and Jack couldn’t lift it. Mark heard him growling with the strain, and it only shifted a little. The pressure on his left arm doubled and he shouted in pain.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is polar bear of a girl from Maine writing about California and earthquakes? Who gave permissions for this??
> 
> I have never been in an earthquake so I've got no clue. I did my best. Call it artist licence for creativity. Roll with it, folks. We've got work to do.


	3. My... Hero?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I  
> accidentally  
> updated
> 
> Whatever. Mark hit 10 million and everyone in this community is really nice and kind and says kind things and I just had to post this short little bit. Don't all y'all expect this kind of kindness all the time, mkay? Mkay. Carry on.

“I can’t get out,” Mark said, panting with fear. His heart raced and his body was _hurt_.

“Are you hurt?”

“Yes,” Mark whimpered. He could only take short, rapid breaths- his chest was half crushed against the back of the couch, and his left arm was pinned at the arm rest.

“Okay, okay, I’m… I’m gonna get you out of there.”

The bookshelf was a lovely and heavy thing. It wasn’t a plain-Jane bookshelf; it was a fancy carved shelf with dark wood and flourishes and stops and full of games and movies that still rained down on Mark every few moments. He didn’t even know if the earthquake was still happening.

It was a lovely and heavy bookshelf and Jack couldn’t lift it. Mark heard him growling with the strain, and it only shifted a little. The pressure on his left arm doubled and he shouted in pain.

“Fuck! Fuck! I’m gonna… Fuck, okay, don’t be scared, I’m getting you out.”

And to Mark's relief, it lifted. He managed to roll and crawl out of the wreck, the urge to escape overriding the pain in his ribs and arm.

He laid on the floor, freed, and tried to suck in air, but something was wrong with his ribs-

The bookshelf fell down again with a crash, and Mark looked at the bear that had lifted it.

 

Looked- looked at… at the…

 

The bear. That had lifted it.

 

Literal bear.

 

It was dark brown and massive and Jack's hat was comically perched on its head.

 

And then Jack was wearing his hat.

 

Mark wanted to scream. He wanted to run. He wanted to ask Jack everything.

 

What he got was an ambulance ride, and a wide-eyed shake of Jack's head.

Jack wasn't allowed near Mark while the hospital checked him over, as he wasn't family. The earthquake had been very minor- apparently the shelf had just been badly balanced.

Jack came in Mark's room, finally, but had the doctor right on his heels. Mark didn't dare ask Jack anything until they were alone, so he sat impatiently through the results.

He had severe bruising on the bone of his left arm and on his thumb, general soft tissue bruising everywhere else, and two fractured ribs. Nothing was truly broken, but they were concerned about the damage to his left hand and asked he wear a brace. As for his ribs, they said to take it easy for the next few weeks.

Mark rushed through the insurance information and final processing before they released him. Jack said nothing the entire time, but simply sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair with his face in his hands.

When they were allowed to leave, Mark allowed the silence to continue through the call for a cab, the car ride, the walk up their driveway to the house, while Jack unlocked the door, and while they took off their plastic hospital flip flops.

He waited until they made their way to the living room, still trashed, before he spoke.

"A bear lifted the bookshelf off me."

Jack simply sighed, kneeling down to start picking up CD cases.

"Jack."

He didn't look up.

"Jack!"

He finally spun around. There was something wild and basal in his eyes. Mark couldn't tell if it was predatory or prey-like.

"I honestly have no idea what to say." His voice cracked.

Mark sat down in an armchair with a soft groan. He hurt.

"I don't know what even to ask. There was a... A..." He sighed and started over. "You were a bear." It was phrased like a statement, but he wanted it to be answered.

"I was a bear," Jack confirmed.

Mark sat back and rubbed his face. "I don't understand. Why?"

"Why was I a bear?" Jack repeated dryly. "Okay. Let's start with that. I became a bear. Like how right now, I've become a human."

Mark stared.

"Because I'm not a human," Jack added. “Not normally."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you are picking up on the Important Thing. The one outstanding Thing that totally gives away what thing it is that is Jack. What in TARNation could it be? Wink wink. Nudge nudge. Anyways, happy 10 million everyone, I'll see you guys next week!
> 
> (Another hint- we have seen this before. Mark went head to head with this before. We ALL have SEEN this BEFORE.)


	4. LEPRECHAUN, REVEAL THYSELF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda wish I'd left you hanging on what Jack is for a few more chapters, but this story is about more than just this reveal. Trust me, this isn't the big resolution. These poor boys have more in store for them.
> 
> I don't usually update this early in the day, but I've got a board meeting this afternoon where I'm supposed to explain how polymerase chain reaction DNA amplification-based disease testing works. My audience is a bunch of farmers. And I'm probably going to miss my workout class. Sadface.

"Because I'm not a human," Jack added. “Not normally."

Mark’s stress response was humor. “You’re a fucking leprechaun aren’t you. Knew it.” It was not a good stress response.

Jack rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You’re real fuckin’ funny, Fischbach. No, I’m not a leprechaun. I’m an alp.”

Mark knew he’d heard that term before in regards to mythical creatures. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed ‘alp’ into wikipedia.

“You’re fucking googling it? You’re gonna look up what the internet says about alps when you’ve got one right in front of you?” Jack cried.

Mark ignored him, reading quickly. German. Nightmares. Vampiric. There it was.

 

 _Walrider_.

 

His skin crawled. “Walrider,” he said out loud, needing to vocalize it.

Jack mashed his palm over his eyes. “Of course you’d bring that one up. Jesus. Goddamn Outlast bullshit.”

Mark stared at him with wide eyes, waiting. This was like a bad dream. “But… you’re a _walrider_. I’m… I live with a walrider?”

“Technically, sure. That’s one name. But that game was so off. I don’t know where they were getting their lore, but it was complete shit. You can go right ahead and scrub any notions of walrider out of your head. Alp is what I am. Not some fuckin’ possessing crazy people ghost. I’m just a- a mammal, I guess. I’m like you, but not. I was born, and I’ve got a body, and a brain, and all that. I’m just a little… different.”

“How?”

Mark meant it to mean, _how different are you_? but Jack answered as though he asked, _how are you an alp_?

“Really intense, long, shitty childbirth. Wikipedia actually got that bit right. My Ma was in labor for a day and a half with me. So it’s not genetic, which is kind of shitty, because my parent’s didn’t really know what to do with me. Luckily, one of the attending doctors was a leprechaun- cause being a doctor has a lot of money, and leprechauns actually are plutomaniacs- and he figured, between my eyes and the long birth, I’d probably be an alp. So he got in touch and gave my parents a lot of the information they needed. They helped me keep fitting tarnkappes, and made sure I knew how to behave like a human.”

“Tarnkappes?”

“Yeah. It’s like… jesus, this sounds cliche and nerdy as hell, but it’s pretty much an alp’s item of power, and it has to be a hat.” He reached up and tapped his hat, and Mark remembered how the bear appeared to be wearing Jack’s hat. And the bear was Jack. And the hat let him turn into a bear? “Obviously, the one I had as a baby wouldn’t be much use right now, so as you change tarnkappes you have to burn your old one and manifest new in the next hat. I like to keep mine on, but if I take it off, I don’t revert to looking like, not-human me, for a while. The power kind of lingers, unless I use it up.”

Mark was shaking his head. “Okay, okay, slow down. Let me get this straight. Your hat is a tarnkappe. It lets you turn into a bear, and look human? What do you normally look like?”

Jack blinked, and Mark’s breath went sharp with recognition.

The bar. Drunk. Stealing hats. _Tarn-cap_.

“See, you saw this once. If I don’t have my tarnkappe, usually it takes a few hours for the power to fade enough that I look like me again. Unless I’m not focusing or I’m tired or drunk.”

His eyes were full blue- the sclera had vanished, leaving just bright blue orbs. His pupils were square and thin, like a goat’s, and his ears stretched up through his hair into points. His teeth were prominently pointed, and his skin had taken a distinctive grayish tint.

And then he looked human again. “You look ill,” Jack observed.

“I’ve been in an earthquake and a bookshelf fell on me and then I broke my ribs and now my roommate- who is _irish_ \- is a monster from german myth,” Mark said all in a rush. “So, yeah, I’m not exactly on my top game right now!”

Jack’s face softened. “Look, we’ve spent the whole afternoon at the hospital, and the living room is a wreck and you’re hurt. Why don’t we just- just relax or something, for a little while?”

Mar did want a shower- the smell of hospital clung to him, which was totally not helping him stay cool and calm about everything. The doctors had given him a prescription for pain meds, but he had decided he’d stick with advil- but he hadn’t taken any yet. He pushed himself up to stand, wincing as his ribs ached. “I’m gonna go take a shower and get the hospital smell off, and then- can we go to Kamasouptra?” he said, naming one of his favorite comfort food restaurants. “Or should we not talk about this stuff in public?”

“It’s fine, if anyone decides to eavesdrop, they’ll just think we’re either crazy or talking about some make-pretend world,” Jack shrugged. “Go ahead and shower, I’ll get this all tidied up.”

Mark nodded and groggily made his way upstairs. Before getting in the shower, he catalogued all his bruises and aches, acknowledging them, accepting they hurt, and moving on. His ribs were a mess of black-and-blue, already, and his back was peppered with bruises. He had a swollen and hot spot above his right eye, and a few marks on his jawbone. His left wrist was scraped red from the bookshelf, and beneath the red he could already see purple blossoming. The backs of his legs were aching, but hadn’t started to bruise yet.

He took his time in the shower, frustrated that he couldn’t turn it as hot as he wanted because it made his aches hurt worse. He dressed in his most comfortable jeans and a hoodie, and went downstairs.

The living room was returned to normal. It looked like nothing had happened.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone know much about alps? Go read the wiki, it's pretty good.
> 
> Also, who screamed about Walrider? I've known about the mythology of alps for much longer than the Outlast game. I used to read a webcomic where my favorite character was an alp, and he was just a cute little guy with a bowler hat and a habit of being frikking adorable and angsty. Not a wall-phasing demonic ghostiegoo. I love the outlast game and I love the monster it created, but I hate that they called it an alp, because there's just about nothing it got correct in alp-lore.


	5. There's Always But's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, Jay is updating again. WELL LET ME TELL YOU I KNOW IT'S NOT WEDNESDAY. I said I'd update probably on Wednesdays, once a week. So you might think, jeez, this crazy noodle doesn't even know the days of the week? I KNOW THE DAYS OF THE WEEK.
> 
> There are just some really thrilling things going on at my work next week, and I'm not sure I'll be able to update. See... there are some very exciting and worrying things happening in the industry I'm involved with, and to try to gain a better understanding of what we're dealing with, we're sort of 'importing' a few scientists from Scotland who literally have written the book on this. I know I'm being vague, I'm just lock-jaw'd by a few confidentiality things. Anyways, you don't need to know any of this, except next week I'll be very busy and may not be able to update.
> 
> So y'all get a Friday update. Happy weekend, folks.

The living room was returned to normal. It looked like nothing had happened.

Mark glared at the bookshelf- it was upright. Maybe the bear had put it back again.

“Ready to go?” Jack asked, kindly, leaning against the kitchen counter with a glass of water. He had his hat on- his _tarnkappe_ \- but then, he had it on pretty frequently.

“You put the bookshelf back. Bear again?”

Jack hesitated, then nodded. “It’s so weird that you know. I’ve literally never told any normal humans this. I mean, my parents and my siblings knew, but I never told them.”

“You never told your girlfriends?”

Jack shrugged. “No. I’d sound crazy. Well, Signe knew, and Emma- I dated her in high school- but that was just cause they weren’t human either.”

“What were they?” Mark asked with interest. Jack had mentioned a leprechaun earlier- did that mean that all sorts of mythical critters weren’t so mythical after all?

Jack wrinkled his nose. “Er… I can’t say. I just- it’s bad etiquette to tell humans about others. It’s not my secret to share, y’know?”

“But things- people- who aren’t human, they can just differentiate between other non-humans easily?” Mark asked, getting his wallet and heading to the doorway to put his shoes on.

“Yep. I’ve got no explanation for that, for how I can just look at a guy and be like, he’s a pixie. Without seeing anything that would put him out there as not human. It’s almost like an extra sense. I’m not talking like ESP or anything, this is more like one of those senses like… spacial sense. Or temperature. Or motion. You just kind of know it.”

“What other not-human things are there?”

“Oh, loads. You name it, they exist. Leprechauns, I said. Elves, pixies, banshees, orcs, goblins, witches, sprites, neirieds, satyrs, dryads, nymphs, kelpies… And then there’s vampires and werewolves, but that’s not a disease, they’re a whole… race, I guess. It’s genetic. And vampires don’t live forever or anything, they just really hate cooked meat, and werewolves don’t like lose control at the full moon, they’re just shapeshifters, but limited. Unlike yours truly,” he said proudly.

“So you can shapeshift? Into what?”

Jack shrugged. “Anything? I mean, the easiest ones that sort of come naturally to an alp, that are like our basic forms, are human, horse, dog, and moth.”

“The moth you saved! Was that an alp?” Mark exclaimed as they got into the car.

“No,” Jack laughed. “That was just a moth. But still, you were gonna kill her, and I’ve been a moth, so it was kind of personal.”

“And you can only shapeshift with your hat, your tarnkappe.”

“Right.”

Mark nodded. “Okay. So… so that’s not bad. You’re not like- evil, or… or malevolent or anything?”

“I’m not a killer, no,” Jack said sharply. “But... “

“I knew there was gonna be a ‘but’.”

“There’s always butts!” Jack shouted, grinning, and Mark snickered. “Butts for everyone.”

“Har de har. Seriously, though.”

“Right, right. So…. evil, no. Killer, no. And, it’s probably something I should mention- there aren’t any races of non-humans who you can really call ‘killers’. There are killers out there, but that’s an individual thing, not a race thing, you know? There’s always a few bad eggs, but no group is actually evil or murderous.”

“Okay. So normal race rules, right?”

“Right. And each have their own culture and stuff. And, for the record, alps aren’t ‘german’, it’s just the area that got the big wrap for it. Like how Salem, Massachusetts gets the big wrap for witches, but all witches aren’t from there.”

“Got it. So, back to the not killer, but blank?”

“Alright, so I’m an alp, and that means I can change shape and do some other cool stuff with the assistance of my tarnkappe, but it also means… I don’t even know how to explain this. I’ve literally never explained it before,” he said with a nervous laugh.

“It’s fine, just go ahead and say it as best as you can,” Mark said as they parked at the restaurant. He took his seatbelt off but didn’t get out, just turned and looked at Jack, giving him a moment to say it.

“Well… you read the wiki, didn’t you? First words on it say ‘nightmare creature’.”

“You said the wiki is super wrong.”

“I said- it’s mostly wrong. But nightmare creature is a little on,” he said, chewing his lip. Mark’s brows went up, but he tried to stay calm and collected as he let him continue. “I have a lot to do with nightmares. It’s just- it’s like when you get jittery from drinking too much coffee and to remain still is almost painful. Not doing anything with nightmares is like that. I’m not like the classic vampire tale where I have all this ‘hunger’ or whatever. I just get super unpleasant if I’m not making nightmares.”

“You… You make nightmares?” Mark repeated.

“Yeah. I know you must’ve noticed me walking out in the night sometimes, you never asked, but that’s what I’m doing. I go out into town or somewhere and usually go into someone’s room as a moth or smoke-,”

“You can turn into smoke? How is that even- that’s not biologically possible!”

“I turned into a bear earlier, none of this is ‘biologically possible’, at least as far as we know biology this century. Maybe one day they’ll come up with new rules that’ll make sense, but right now it’s ‘not possible’. Where does the mass come from? Anyways, as I was saying- and yes, I can turn into smoke- I go into a sleeping person’s room and sit on their chest. And I just kind of reach- but not physically, I kind of go forward with my thoughts, not my body. And I make nightmares.”

“Like… what do you mean by ‘make’ them?”

“I don’t set the scene or come up with everything, of course. I just push their head into their own nightmares. Sometimes I tamper with them. Usually I run around in them and terrorize them a little more. It’s all a game. Like a dog chasing sticks- I chase them around in their heads. And it doesn’t hurt anyone, and I don’t like target one person.”

“But what about- I woke you up once with my nightmares.”

“Yeah, see… I’ve never terrorized you. Cause I just think, I dunno, you’re right there, and if you’re cranky from a night of bad sleep then I have to deal with you, and what if you somehow recognized me, or… I don’t know, it was just a step I never wanted to take. Because then, once I’ve already crossed that line with you, then why would I go into town? If I was lazy, there’d be no rules to stop me from terrorizing you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Mark laughed, getting out of the car. He mulled all that over as they stood in line and ordered their soups. He felt a little strange about Jack never terrorizing him- at once proud and… a little envious.

Jack apparently thought too much of his privacy to do that. It was one thing to do it to a stranger- because you never had to face them again, it was hardly an invasion of privacy because there was no connection, no relationship to ruin or build there. But to do it to him, Jack seemed to feel like that was inappropriate. Mark was pleased he didn’t want to do that.

But he was also a little curious. His friend was an alp and his alp side had been in contact with tons of strangers, but the alp aspect of his life never touched Mark’s life. And he was gallavanting around in the dreams of strangers- didn’t he want to mess with Mark’s dreams? Were Mark’s dreams not enough for him? He knew it was silly, but it was a strange kind of envy that he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with.

They sat, and Mark cupped his bowl in his hands, blowing gently across the surface to cool it.

“So my nightmares that night were keeping you up?”

“Yeah. I could tell you were having nightmares, and I wanted so bad to just peek, and the sense that someone was having a nightmare right there- it was like, again with the innacurate food analogies, because it’s not a hunger, it’s just a strong habit- it was like a fresh baked cake blowing smell right under my nose. Tempting. Like, oh look, here’s a fantastic cake, sink your teeth in- or not!”

Mark felt his neck blush, and didn’t quite understand (or didn’t want to understand) why.

“Is that all, then? Just nightmares?”

Jack nodded. “Yep. To summarize- I look a little weird, I use my tarnkappe to look different, and I like nightmares.”

“This isn’t so bad. The only bad thing about this is that now that I know all of this is out there, I’m gonna be paranoid as hell that people I know are, like, pixies or vampires or something.”

Jack laughed. “It is a bummer about that, I suppose. I can leak word out that you know to the people around who are other ‘mythological’ races, so if they want to tell you about themselves, they can.”

Mark had been taking a sip of his soup, and swallowed too fast, choking a little on hot noodles. “People around? So there are other imaginary creatures that I already know?”

Jack grinned widely, and Mark shook his head. “This is so weird. I can’t believe I’ve been living with a nightmare creature for months.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are things in the works. More action coming up, soon. I promise. We're just going to spend a little while easing poor Markimoo into this new strange world before I beat him up again uwu because I do so love me some whump. (Do kids these days still use that word, whump? You don't? Well, fite me.)
> 
> What are you all up to this weekend?


	6. Putting It Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been >1 week. I am sorrysorrysorry. Life has been wicked crazy lately. The visit with the Scottish scientists was a whirlwind- I learned too much for just 5 days, but I've still got questions out the wazoo. We're looking at huge lab renovations, and starting to implement all these new protocols, and ordering new equipment- and my superior's mother passed away, so I'm sort of in charge of the lab and everything in it right now. Then this weekend- Samhain! I was the world's shittiest mime because I'm crappy at being quiet, and I tried absinthe and had a 'prop' flask full of fireball. I've also, in the last hour, just realized I haven't made my car payment yet.
> 
> So nothing really significant to all y'all readers- onward we go into the meat of it!  
> (Unless you're a veggievore like me, then we'll share some mushrooms and tofu, mkay?)

Jack grinned widely, and Mark shook his head. “This is so weird. I can’t believe I’ve been living with a nightmare creature for months.”

“There were a few speed bumps. The lemon thing, for one.”

Mark blinked, remembering. “That’s an alp thing?”

“Sure is. We have a very bad reaction to lemons. No idea why, but it is consistently an alp thing. They say in the ye old days, you could test people like that. And then there was that time we got drunk and you took my hat, of course. And a few other times- we were flying back from Indycon and I fell asleep on the plane, and my hat came off. I got it back on pretty quick when I woke up, but it still startled me. And then there was once when I locked myself out of the house and got in by turning to smoke, but you were home and I didn’t know. I scared the hell out of you, because you didn’t hear me come in, and you scared the hell out of me,” he said, listing the events and ticking them off his fingers.

“So much makes so much sense now,” Mark chuckled. Jack shrugged and dug into his stew, and they ate quietly for a few minutes.

“There was that harvest celebration thing we went to a week ago, and I almost got killed by that horse,” Jack added.

“That’s an alp thing?”

“Horses hate alps. Which is funny, because all other animals seem to really like me. And I can turn into a horse. I have turned into a horse. But horses really hate us.”

“Weird.”

“Also, when I enter a person’s house, I can only leave through the same way.”

“What? Why can’t you?”

“Dunno, alp thing. It doesn’t count with public places, because it’s not one person’s ‘dwelling’, as the lore goes, but when I go in someone’s house, if I try to leave through a different door, I get really nauseous and dizzy. Which isn’t a big problem, because usually when you go to someone’s house, you take your shoes off at the door. So if everyone tries to leave out a different door, I just say I need to get my shoes and go out the initial entrance. The only time it’s dangerous is when I’m terrorizing someone.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I can get trapped. It’s only ever happened once, but if I was to go in someone’s window, and then they woke up and closed it, I’m stuck until they open the window again.”

“Why can’t you open the window?”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t count unless they open it. Or if I come in through a grate, or a door, or beneath a door, and they block it, I’m stuck until it’s clear again.”

“But if they woke up, wouldn’t they see you sitting on their chest?”

Jack poked at the remains of his stew with a small smile. “Nope.”

Mark’s brow furrowed. “Why no- oh. Oh, you can totally turn invisible, can’t you?” he guessed. He could change his appearance at will. He could turn into a bear, or a moth, or smoke. So it followed that he could turn unseeable.

“S’right. So it’s not too bad, being caught, it’s not like the end of the world, but it sucks. Once I’d gone in a window- and now I only use the cracks under a door, because nobody ever gets up in the night to stop up their door- and the guy woke up and closed it. I was stuck in there until the next afternoon, hiding under the bed, invisible.

“I was hungry and pissed by the time he opened it again. It was actually pretty scary- I was worried he wouldn’t open it ever again, because it was late fall and it had gotten really cold, and it wasn’t supposed to warm up again, not enough for open windows. I was actually considering setting fire to the house and locking him in his bedroom, so that he’d have to open the window to get out. I was really scared,” he laughed.

Mark scratched his chin thoughtfully. “So, is this like- genie rules? If you were to turn into smoke and I caught you in a bottle, you’d be stuck?”

Jack raised his brows. “That’s not exactly genie rules. If I put you in a bottle- a big one that you’d fit in- and closed it, you’d be stuck too.”

“Oh, right. Do genies exist?”

“Yeah, but they prefer to be called djinn, not genies. Just in case you ever meet one,” he suggested.

“Do they grant wishes?”

“Nah, they can just make themselves tiny, they can literally eat fire, and they don’t ever need to drink water. Also, they can predict weather with absolute accuracy.”

“What about races who don’t look like humans, but can’t change like you can to appear normal?” Mark asked.

“That’s kind of a weird thing. I had an orc friend when I was younger who looked to me really orc-like: he had the short horns and flat nose and his freckles were green. And I asked him how he passed as human, why other kids didn’t freak out when they saw him, and his parents explained it to me. I didn’t get it much then, but I did some research, and think it’s actually pretty cool. Do you know about the blind spot people have in their eyes?”

Mark nodded. He’d studied it in his anatomy class, and then in his medical physiology class, when he was going for his biomedical engineering degree. “Your retina is on the back of your eye, and that’s what detects light, but your optical nerve blocks a part of it. So there’s literally a spot in your vision where you can’t see anything. You don’t notice it, though, and you can’t see it. Because your brain uses context to fill it in. It invents input that isn’t there, using the space around it and whether you’ve already seen that area.”

“Right. I mean, they didn’t explain it that complicated- and I was totally amazed by the fact that I’m literally blind in part of my vision, and everyone is, but you still see fake stuff there. But this is kind of like that. The human brain sort of invents stuff based on the data that non-humans don’t exist. You don’t see the orc because your brain has decided that’s a visual error, and corrects it.”

That was immensely complex, and Mark wondered at the evolutionary development of it, and how on earth billions of humans could have their brains forcing hallucinations of ‘normal’ people on them. How did the brain decide what to put in it’s place? If the orc kid had a flat nose, and the brain just put one there, how did the brain decide what shape or color or size the fake nose was?

“What about at that party? I could see you. And when you changed earlier, my brain didn’t fill it in.”

Jack shrugged. “I haven’t got all the answers. Humans don’t understand themselves fully yet- still learning about the brain and all that. So alps don’t understand alps fully yet, and all that. Maybe the first time was cause you’re drunk- people can frequently see other races as they truly are when they’re under the influence of booze or drugs.”

“So… now that I know you guys exist, is my brain going to stop filling in fake data?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure. When my family found out that all existed, some of them changed. My Ma, Pa, and only one sister could see the races for what they really were. But my brothers and my other sister never adjusted. It was a little harder for them- if I pointed it out, then they could see it, but my Ma, Pa, and sister could see it all the time, they didn’t need any prompting.”

“But did they develop that sense like you?”

“Nah. They could only see the visible things. So if they met another alp or a pixie or a leprechaun, who all look human, they didn’t know. It’ll be pretty neat to see if you change and can see properly. It probably won’t happen immediately, but… y’know. Just be ready not to freak out if you’re at Starbucks and a naiad flaps her gills at you.”

He looked around the room, trying to spot anyone unnatural looking, but nothing stood out at him. “Everyone looks human so far.”

Jack glanced around. “Nobody in here is non- wait, no, there’s a pair of werewolf tourists over there, but they look human, so you wouldn’t see anything anyways.”

Mark got up and collected their bowls. “I need to sleep on this. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I bet. Sorry you had to find out,” Jack apologized. Mark gave him a look.

“Sorry? Are you crazy? I prefer knowledge, and maybe a little struggle, to ignorance and bliss. I’m glad I found out. And- to be honest, I’m a little pissed you never told me.”

Jack shrugged. “I didn’t want it to change our relationship,” he said in a small voice. A little sad.

Mark lightly pushed his shoulder. He could tell he was afraid this had changed their friendship. “Are you kidding? You’re the same person I’ve known for years. You haven’t changed. I just know you better. You’re still… You’re still Jack.” He made a mental note to be careful not to treat him differently in light of this.

He smiled at him. “Thanks, man. Does that mean you’re not kicking me out?”

“Why would I kick you out??”

“You’re living with a literal nightmare creature,” Jack pointed out. Mark laughed, and continued to laugh for half the drive home.

 


	7. Da Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A two-fer? Back-to-back updates? It can't be!
> 
> It is. I feel bad about this going so many days without being updated that here we are again, with another chapter. Plus- I update on Wednesdays! ((Lordielou, I've been shit about keeping to that. Yikes.))

“You’re living with a literal nightmare creature,” Jack pointed out. Mark laughed, and continued to laugh for half the drive home.

“We were supposed to record with Matthias tomorrow. You want me to text and postpone it?” Jack asked as they got back to the house.

“Nah, it’ll be fine.”

“Your face is all bruised up,” Jack said, gesturing at the lump over his eye that had slowly started to change color, and the mottling that was becoming visible beneath his scruff.

“That’s okay. I’m over it. I’m only human, and I’m fine, just a little banged up.” He glanced at Jack’s hat. “Hey, if your power is all in your tarnkappe, then could someone take it and use it?”

Jack answered with hesitation, dragging the word out. “Ye-es.”

Mark took note of Jack’s sudden discomfort. “Is this a part of alp etiquette?”

Jack nodded rapidly. “Lord, yes. You don’t take people’s tarnkappe. You just don’t. I mean, it’s different when it’s a human, because they don’t know- their ignorance excuses them, and they won’t be able to use it’s power anyways, because they don’t even know it has power. But now that you know… please don’t.” He tried to laugh it off, but Mark could tell he was still a little nervous.

“Alright, I won’t. But it can be used by others? To do what?”

“There are... Some things. By 'use it', I mean you couldn't use it like I do. You couldn't turn into a bear or smoke or a moth." Jack hesitated- Mark could tell he was skipping over something, but he didn’t prod. He was allowed to have his secrets. “And there’s another sort of alp rule, like the exit-through-entrance-only rule. If someone takes your tarnkappe, you _beg_ for it. And you do literally whatever it takes to get it back. You’re at their bidding. It’s like… a compulsion. If you took my tarnkappe, and told me that if I murdered someone you’d give it back…”

“You would have to _murder someone_?!” Mark exclaimed.

“Yeah. See, there’s more than just the lab-rat sci-fi fear keeping the other races from making our presence known. We- and I don’t mean me specifically, I’m not like immortal or anything, I really am 25- but, we as a collective group of non-human ‘mythological creatures’ have watched humans bend every other creature on the planet to their will.

“You guys took wolves, one of the only creatures with the endurance and speed to compete with you, and you domesticated them. They’re cushy pets now. You use horses to carry you and your things around. You even made elephants work for you. And threats, like tigers and stuff, you put them almost to extinction. Now imagine what you’d do if you found out that there’s a group of creatures who have power, and if you take their hats, you can use that power, and you can use them. And it’s not just alps- many other races have a sort of disadvantage like that. I don’t feel comfortable spilling the secrets of other races to you, but trust me, there’s a lot of power to be had over the races, if one was so willing.

“We don’t mess with each other, because we’re the minority, and because of mutually assured destruction- if one race started messing with each other, or revealed another, then we’d all go down. We’ve all been at peace for a really long time, and it’s easy to choose to keep it that way when we’re watching humans blow each other up left and right. We just do our best to adapt human culture and stay out of the limelight.”

Mark imagined that, if people knew about this, it would be chaos. It was a good idea to keep it all secret. “And you don’t even need to ask me, I won’t tell anyone,” he reassured Jack.

“Good. Thanks.”

 

They made their way to the living room, and Jack cheerfully suggested they resume their episode of Grimm.

“Actually, that sounds kind of nice. Just something normal and relaxing.” He plopped down on the couch, then glanced up at the bookshelf. He wanted to move to the other end of the couch, away from it, but a) that was Jack’s spot and b) he was certainly not going to allow himself to develop a phobia of bookshelves.

“I could do with normal and relaxing,” Jack sighed, sitting down heavily in his spot. It occurred to Mark that this couldn’t be easy for him, either. He’d been outed, unexpectedly and in a traumatic situation, against his will. Mark now knew him on a level he’d never intended. Hell, Mark could even hold this over his head, if he was inclined to blackmail and malice, which he luckily wasn’t.

But it didn’t change the fact that their relationship had undergone a change in power. Mark wasn’t sure that there was an imbalance. It didn’t feel like it. Sure, Mark now held a huge secret of Jack’s, something he would do anything to keep quiet. But Jack now was free to let his real alp-self exist in the apartment, there was no more sneaking around or secrecy or anything, and the reveal of his unique skills as an alp placed him far physically superior to Mark, who had always been the ‘so strong’ one. Jack had terrific power that Mark could never even grasp at.

So maybe their relationship had changed, but the power seemed distributed evenly.

When the show was over, Mark was blinking far longer than necessary, and Jack’s head was resting heavily on his knees. Mark forced himself to stand up.

“I’ve gotta go to bed. It’s not even late, but I’m exhausted,” he said, stretching his arms above his head and popping his back.

“Mmmm. I probably should too. It’s been a hell of a day,” Jack mumbled. He stuck his hands in the air with an exaggerated, child-like pout, and Mark obligingly pulled him to his feet.

“Hey, what happened to the watermelon?” he asked, suddenly remembering that a bowl of watermelon had been perched on the couch at the time of the earthquake.

“Spilled all over the floor, but there was none on the couch. Miraculous.”

“Nice.”

 

They brushed their teeth and went their separate ways, but Mark hesitated in the hall. “Jack?” he called.

“Hmm?” The irish roommate returned to the hall, already shirtless and in pajama pants.

“You can tell when someone is having a nightmare, right?”

Jack nodded.

“Well… how close to you have to be to tell?” Mark found his hands twisting hem of his shirt like a child, and forced them to drop at his sides.

One corner of Jack’s mouth lifted. “I’ll be able to tell from here. If you have a nightmare, I’ll come wake you up. Get you hot chocolate or something.”

Mark smiled. “Thanks,” he said, relieved he didn’t even have to ask.

 

It was a long time before he fell asleep. He laid in bed with all the lights on, thinking.

Jack didn't kill anyone. He didn't harm anyone. He wasn't really a monster.

 

Or was he?

 

Mark thought more about it. The root of the alp- nightmares. There was a little Outlast-style walrider in him. And it was monstrous, in an unconventional yet undeniable way.

His answered-unasked question in the hall proved that.

 

Nightmares _were_ harmful.

 

They hurt in a pathological, creeping way. They brought fear- they were unwanted. In some ways, they were worse than physical harm because a physical wound could be patched, treated, and would heal with ease. Mental harm... That was very different. And they could have a very lasting effect. They could itch at the edge of thought for days after.

Being a sort of horror connoisseur himself, Mark knew well what nightmares could do. He'd had such severe nightmares that he was scared to sleep. He was terrified of silence and the dark. There were days following horrific nightmares where he strafed around corners, afraid to have his back to open air, where he kept all the lights in his house on. Nightmares that scared him so bad he could do nothing but cry the next day, or couldn't eat.

He knew what it was to be violently afraid of nothing, and the accompanying frustration. He knew it was nothing. He knew there was nothing to be afraid of. But the fear accosted him regardless.

Causing nightmares didn’t initially seem as bad as wicked claws digging into flesh, or needle-like teeth sinking through skin, but it didn’t make it less…. monstrous.

It was strange to apply the word ‘monster’ to Jack. Mark didn’t want to. He was sure Jack would deny being a monster. _They’re just nightmares. I don’t hurt anyone._

When he went to sleep, he didn’t dream at all. Just slept.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've got some concern about Jack's 'not-harmful' alp habit. I see Mark's perspective very well- I suffered from severe night terrors as a child, and I've never quite grown out of them. 22 years old and I still wake up with wild hallucinations and shivers and the inability to speak or to stay still. Happily, it's very infrequent.
> 
> Do all y'all get nightmares? Wanna talk about nightmares? Let's talk about nightmares. Use that handy-dandy comment box and we'll talk about nightmares.
> 
> Also, I'd like any guesses about further plot points. So far we've mentioned several things that may or may not become pertinent- other races, people being not human around Mark, nightmares, tarnkappe robbery, exit/enter through same way, lemons... all could potentially be what future antagonism centers around. So I'll just sit here and rub my hands together like a disney villain while you all give your best guess.


	8. Blue (Daba Dee)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Wednesday.
> 
> But Wednesday is Veteran's day so I just figured, what the heck. I'll post now. I prefer to post from my work computer because my personal one is slower than death, and my mother just loves to peer over my shoulder and see what I'm doing. ((I'm writing real-people-fanfiction, Mum, about a german-irish demon creature and a super mega nerd who has a crush on said demon, IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED??)) And the doc I've written this all in is very long and getting longer, and we're about halfway through what's been written so far.
> 
> I have to say, I did so love reading about all y'all's nightmares and experiences with dreams! Not just in a fun interesting way, but it also gave me some great insight to how people dream differently. So far, I've been basing most of my dream-writing on my own experiences, because that's all I've got, but you guys have given me some really interesting ideas that I wouldn't have thought of on my own. Cue evil hand rubbing. But! Thank you guys for sharing!

Life continued with a peculiar normalcy. They recorded videos, hung out with the Grumps, discussed cooking but ultimately ordered take-out, went to the gym, played video games.

The changes were few.

Mark requested that Jack tell him where he was headed when he went out at night to terrorize people. Jack seemed taken aback by the request, but went along with it without protesting. Mark just didn’t want him to get locked in someone’s house and leave Mark worried and unable to help.

Mark spent a lot of time going through research and asking Jack questions. Initially, he asked a lot of questions about other races, but noticed Jack’s uncertainty and discomfort when answering those. He seemed uncertain how much he was allowed to say, and when he did reveal things, looked guilty. So Mark redirected his questions to him.

And then it became a game- Mark would find some strange factoid on the internet, and Jack would either rebuke or reaffirm it. Mark learned that Jack wasn’t put off by shoes who’s toes pointed toward the door, or horseshoes, or iron, and though he certainly did love tea, he probably wouldn’t take up someone on an offer that was obviously a trap. He loved milk and ice cream and frosting and anything creamy, but he absolutely did not drink milk from the breasts of sleeping women. (This question, Mark waited to ask until Jack was sipping coffee. And though the resulting scene was fantastic, he did take responsibility for cleaning the coffee off the floor and wall.)

 

Jack was slower to acclimate to Mark now being in the know, but when he did, life at the house really took a turn for the stranger.

Mark would come downstairs yawning, and find a freakishly tall Jack in the kitchen, getting a cereal bowl from the top of the cupboard. Jack simply shrank to normal height, bowl in hand, and said good morning.

Or it would be a cold fall evening, and they were just back from the gym, and Mark was wrapping up in a blanket on the couch. A small gray cat with Jack’s hat jumped from the couch and burrowed right into the quilt basket, bright eyes watching the TV.

Mark locked his keys in his car and had his phone out to call triple-A, but Jack simply laughed at him, and then dissolved. A thin stream of smoke fed into his car at the edge of the door, and then Jack was sitting in the driver’s seat with a shit-eating grin and the keys in hand.

 

And then Mark started seeing the others.

 

He shouldn’t have been surprised when they went to the Grump studio and one of them was blue.

“Nereid,” Suzy said, wearing a smile miles wide and a red sweater that clashed eye-hurtingly well with her azure skin.

“Bless you. What? You’re blue,” Mark said dumbly. Jack cackled.

“It’s what I am. A nereid, the technical name for a sea nymph. I’m gulf native, but that’s such a small ocean that the pacific nereids are cool with me,” she said breezily. Mark blinked a few times and struggled to keep up. She patted the spot on the couch beside her, and he sat down mechanically.

“You’ve always been blue, then? And I just only now can see it.” He shook his head slowly. “I can’t believe all this stuff exists right here, and we just never notice it.” She giggled and patted his shoulder reassuringly.

Her skin wasn’t just one shade of blue- just as his skin wasn’t just one shade of tan. The undersides of her arms were a lighter baby blue, while the tops were nearly navy. A mole on her hand was white. Her mouth was black, and her fingernails were black.

“Can you breathe underwater?” he asked.

“I’d be a pretty crappy nereid if I couldn’t,” she snorted, and the sides of her neck rippled with gills.

“What about Arin?”

“Oh, Arin can’t breathe underwater. But he can see me- he could from the very moment we met. He can see better than me, even,” she said proudly.

“Some people just can see more clearly. He’s got the Sight,” Jack explained, dropping down on the couch on Mark’s other side. “Humans with the Sight are a little creepy. No offense,” he added, nodding to Suzy. “But he can see me through anything. Right now, even Suzy sees me as a normal-looking human. Humans with the Sight, though, would see me as I am.”

“He says it’s like a juxtaposition with shape-changers. He can see what you’re supposed to look like and what you naturally look like,” Suzy added.

“And it’s creepy because- with another non-human race, they sense you, and you sense them. With a human, they see you, but you don’t sense them.”

“How did he get the Sight?” Mark asked curiously.

“You don’t get it, you’re born with it,” Arin said, coming in, balancing an armload of orange soda. “Welcome to the real world, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Mark snorted, accepting a soda with a nod. “So what else can you do? Are you like, water-bender magic too?”

Suzy laughed. “No, I can just breathe underwater and swim really fast. Not all of us are multi-talented super-power grab-bags like this one. I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but Jack’s quite a powerhouse.”

Mark raised a brow and looked at Jack, who scoffed. “Powerhouse, yeah sure. Do you know how good lemon cake smells?”

“Are you really more powerful than most other races?” Mark asked him.

He twirled his soda bottle in his hands. “I mean, I guess I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeve than a lot of others. I’m no match for a kitsune, for sure. I’m not like, the most powerful or anything.”

“Uh, I don’t think anyone is a match for a kitsune, actually,” Suzy put in. “If it was just a competition about who’s basically more powerful, though, I’d say your only real competition are kitsune, phonenix, and the golems.”

Mark regarded Jack with fresh eyes. This skinny irish loudmouth, who smiled far more than was normal and loved cookies, a force to be reckoned with?

“I mean, I guess alps are pretty high up in the pecking order, if a pecking order existed,” Jack shrugged.

“It’s only lately that a pecking order stopped existing,” Arin said, sitting up and looking eager. “I’ve done a stupid amount of research into the history of the non-human races. And by history, I mean not even that long ago. It’s only lately, in the more progressive centuries, when women and black folks have gotten rights, that the caste of races has started to break down. Our generation is one of the first where other races wouldn’t regard, say, an orc with disgust, and an alp would be treated like a king.”

“I grew up with an orc as a best friend,” Jack said.

“See? That would never have happened fifty years ago.”

“Not a whole lot of alps existed fifty years ago. Not a lot exist now.”

“Why not?” Mark asked, listening with interest.

“Well, think about it. An alp is made from a really long and hard labor. Fifty years ago, let alone centuries ago, we weren’t all that medically equipped for complicated and dangerous childbirth. The baby would’ve died, or the mother would have died, and then the infant put to death when they saw it wasn’t human. And being an alp isn’t genetic- alps are infertile.”

Mark shot a glance at Jack, who’s eyes had lowered at that last mention. That revelation made his heart hurt- Jack loved kids, he adored children and positively doted on his nieces and nephews. He would be an excellent father. And there was no reason he couldn’t adopt- but still, Mark could see having the choice to conceive taken away was painful.

“But we’re not suddenly getting an influx of alps either, because nowadays, doctors often see a mother is in a huge amount of pain, and rather than continuing through it for however many hours, they’ll just go right to a C-section,” Arin continued. “So though they’re a little less rare, they’re definitely not commonplace. But they are powerful. Dream manipulation, shapeshifting into any sort of animal, shapeshifting appearance, and the real one that sets them aside- shapeshifting into smoke.”

“But there’s the tarnkappe issue,” Suzy added. “No offense.”

Jack shrugged. “You’re not wrong. I mean, I guess I’m a pretty multi-talented guy, but take away my hat, and I’m nothing.” He didn’t mention the further effect of being tarnkappe-knapped, about how he would be reduced to less than nothing- to a slave. Mark went with the flow and didn’t bring it up.

“And if I shove enough lemons down your throat, you’d die,” Suzy said helpfully.

“That too.”

“Do you know how many alps there are in the world right now?” Mark asked.

“Not a clue,” Jack said, shrugging again.

“Less than a hundred, last report I read.” They all looked at Arin, who grinned. “I read a lot of newsletters.”

Mark just let that sink in for a moment. Jack was one of a hundred. That was incredible.

 

“So.... do the rest of the grumps know this?” he asked. Suzy scratched her ear.

“Uh… no. I just… I don’t know how they’d react, and there’s no real need for them to know. I mean, I don’t feel like we’re really hiding this from them, we’re just....”

“I love where the grump group is right now and we don’t want to throw anything into it that could screw that up. I know nobody would suddenly hate us or leave or anything, they’re all way too nice people to do that, but if we don’t need to disturb the waters, then why would we?” Arin finished.

“But don’t you wish they could really know who you are?” Mark asked Suzy. She laughed.

“They do know who I really am. Just because they don’t know _what_ I am doesn’t mean they don’t know _who_ I am. I mean- did the person you knew as Jack suddenly become someone different when you found out he’s an alp? Because you didn’t know him as an alp, did you never really know him before this week?”

Mark chewed on the corner of his nail thoughtfully. She was absolutely right, but he was loathe to admit it. He’d always lived by the idea that he’d rather have knowledge than have bliss.

“It’s just a physical attribute that they’d learn. They’d learn I have blue skin and gills and a higher body fat percentage to keep me warm and floating. They wouldn’t learn anything new about me as a person. It’d be like… like if Arin told them he has a really red mole on his thigh. It’s just a physical thing.”

“Okay, so it might be mostly physical differences in your case. But… but it’s not always just that. What about werewolves, who can bind with a pack and communicate mentally over massive distances? Or banshees, who can sense death? Or- or alps, who create nightmares? That’s not just a physical thing,” Mark debated, listing some of the things he’d learned grilling Jack.

She shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to say about other people of other races. They have their own motives and affirmations. I can only talk about my case, in specific.”

“Sometimes it’s just easier to go with the flow,” Jack said hotly. “I’m part of a secret minority of considerable power. I’m not supposed to exist. And I told you I’ve never been in your head.”

Mark nodded, more because of his pacifistic nature than any real agreement. He didn’t want to get in a fight about this.

“What are we even playing today?” he asked, and the tension in the room slowly dissipated as the conversation moved to games.

 

It was hard to not stare at Suzy like she had blue skin.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I'm doing okay writing the Grumps. I don't watch them enough to be totally confident in keeping them in character, but I hope it wasn't too bad. And I guess it is kind of obvious that Suzy would be the non-human one, because I mean, Suzy is totally strange and cool IRL. I was toying between her and Ross, but I was worried that making Ross a non-human would make it seem like every non-american was non-human. Plus, I'm even more unfamiliar with Ross and Holly than I am with Arin and Suzy.
> 
> I promise I'm not going to make EVERYONE be non-human. That would be, probability-wise, not good. I mean, I can go with the draw that Cali is an attractive place to non-humans, but I don't want to pull that card. There will be more non-humans, of course, but I'm trying to keep it realistic. It's not like Mark has, by some strange twist of fate, managed to blindly surround himself with non-humans. But there will be more.


	9. Cheers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guESS WHAT DAY IT IS  
> IT'S WEDNESDAY  
> This morning I had my coffee in one hand and my phone in the other and I nearly microwaved my phone so let's all thank the lord that I didn't. And I've spent my afternoon picking through maggot-riddled tubers. I hope all y'all are having a better day than me.

It was hard to not stare at Suzy like she had blue skin.

 

Inhuman beings aside, they had a ball. They took turns playing Mortal Kombat for a while, and then Suzy went and found Mochi. When she brought him over, Jack turned into a somewhat lankier grey cat, and they played until Suzy scooped Jack up. She laughingly fluffed his long fur, cooing and coddling him as he yowled and thrashed, trying to get away. Eventually she released him, and they decided they were hungry.

It was a long and treacherous debate later that they scrapped the idea of ordering pizza and elected to go out instead. The boys waited politely while Suzy changed (all of them had spent enough time around girls that they didn’t question why she felt as though she needed different clothes- they just accepted it carelessly) and they walked to Paddy Murphy’s, a fantastic bar and grill that they all agreed did the best job at being both a bar and a grill, and not just exceeding at one or the other.

 

Mark ordered them all a round of drinks, a round of what he declared ‘seasonally tasteful’ apple pies on the rocks. Ie, hard cider with fireball.

Jack sipped his and chuckled. “A fireball drink again? You don’t learn anything?”

“I’m not the type who avoids a drink just because it made me throw up once,” Mark shot back.

“That’s because you’ve got three balls.”

“You love my three balls,” Mark said carelessly, not looking up from the menu.

“I know a guy with one testicle,” Suzy mused.

 

The conversation fell to her, everyone needing to know why and how and what.

 

“He ought to have sued the scooter company and used the money to get a transplant nut,” Jack said, breaking the long stunned silence that followed the story.

“Would that mean if he had a kid, the kid could have the genetics of a different father? The testicle donor?” Mark asked.

“Are you ready to order?” an unrattled waitress asked, ending that particular jaunt.

The food was great, and the drinks were better. They took turns ordering their favorite beverages for each other- Jack got everyone something oddly spicy and creamy, Arin had them all try a violently blue drink, and Suzy’s choice was acidic with pineapple and rum.

 

By this point, they were all rapidly on their way to being properly smashed. It hadn’t been planned, but Mark felt as though the past week had been unavoidably leading up to this.

The bar had somehow filled up without him noticing. They’d long started their tabs and had abandoned their table for the standing space near the bar, and he was suddenly aware that a few people were bumping elbows.

A live band had started up in the corner, and they were qutie good. They had their volume set just right, too- live bands at bars usually had it far too loud or far too soft. Mark could enjoy them while still enjoying conversations with others.

A young girl with stark white hair, completely black eyes, and a bow of a mouth slipped past him to get a few napkins from the bar, and winked one of those dark orb-like eyes at him on the way back past. He followed her with his eyes- she sat down at a table with an extremely ordinary red-headed boy.

………….

He turned around and saw Suzy at the other end of the bar, talking and laughing with Arin and a handsome man with hollow cheeks and no hair, but long tawny feathers flaring back from his scalp.

He sipped his drink and struck up a conversation with a few guys he frequently bumped into on nights like these. Drunk-at-a-bar nights. He didn’t remember their names- one of them had a name that started with a C, Chris, Craig?- and he doubted that they remembered his. But they talked about the music and the bar and their drinks.

One of the guys had a tufted lion’s tail twitching casually behind him.

….

.

Mark eventually dismissed himself to go take a piss, finishing his drink and managing to get his empty glass to the bar before heading to the restroom. He chuckled slightly as he recalled something he’d read online- you only realize exactly how drunk you are when you try to use the bathroom- and acknowledged the truth of it. He wove slightly on his feet, and the door was hard to open.

The thought that he’d had too much to drink slipped into his mind, but drifted away just as lazily.

He used the bathroom and was concentrating on washing his hands when the door opened behind him. He glanced up at the mirror to see behind him, a reaction, and grinned at Jack.

“I’m drunk.” He’d meant to say hello, but that worked as well.

Jack snorted. “Me too. And so’s everyone else here. It’s a bar, not sunday mass,” he said. Mark could’ve told he was drunk without him saying- the width of the swing in his arms said so.

.

…..

.

..

Mark watched his hand reach up and pluck Jack’s hat from his head. His ankles felt swimmy.

……………..

….

 

……...

“Hey! What the hell, man? You know I need that!” Jack cried, clapping his suddenly grayish hands over his ears.

…

……..

Mark dropped it on his own head experimentally.

.

 _Could I turn into a bear now?_ he wondered, only he heard the words out loud too.

 

“No, doofus, give me my hat back.”

………..

..

…..

.

“Anything, you said?”

……………………………..

……

………….

.

.

..

……..

..

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is a little out of character for Mark because he just released a video yesterday saying he's completely sober for the rest of his life, but I wrote this bit like two weeks ago, so I APOLOGIZE FOR THIS BEING OUT OF CHARACTER. I DIDN'T KNOW OKAY.
> 
> Also- I should probably name the chapters, when I started this I didn't realize how long it was going to be, and now I ragret not doing that. Maybe I'll go back. Ho hum.
> 
> Also also- next week, I'm not sure how the update will go. I might just update twice this week? Because Thanksgiving is next week and I'm going to be up in the valley at my Aunt's gorgeous cabin. Up in the big woods! Where everyone speaks french and cooks too much. It's a nice place to be this time of year.


	10. Fugue and... Forgiveness?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't added much to what I've already got written, which is okay because I'm so far ahead. I've gotten completely preoccupied with Undertale and those damn skelebros and I want to just toss all my plans for this in the wind and make everyone suddenly magically be underground skeleton monsters with badass powers and puns and sadness. Also I got locked in a bathroom for five hours Monday night? So, in the aftermath of that- hello, five hour panic attack- I haven't been in the right mood to write. I've been less wordy and more... shaky. Kids, always bring your phone with you to the bathroom. And make sure people know where you are. Don't stay in an empty building after hours without someone checking in on you every so often. But hey, I'm not getting charged for the holes I tore in the ceiling. And my bruises are really pretty!
> 
> Seriously, make sure that someone- anyone- knows where you are in case something like this happens. It's funny now. It wasn't funny then. I don't want that to ever happen to anyone.
> 
> Anyways. It's Wednesday- here's your update! Sorry about leaving off the ending... but we'll get there, I promiseomise!

Mark never threw up the night of a wild boozer, but it wasn’t uncommon for him to kiss the throne the next morning. He made it there with a few moments to spare, which he spent staring at the shallow water, willing himself not to, swallowing hard and fast-

 

Nope. He was barfing.

 

He spat, and then staggered to the sink, sticking his mouth under the tap to slurp up water to rinse his mouth with. He knew from experience that he usually only barfed once, no more than twice.

Toast sounded fantastic. Dry toast. Maybe a tiny bit of cinnamon. No butter, no jam. Just dry, sponge-like, lovely toast. He loved toast. It was so forgiving.

He padded to the kitchen, quiet in his socks, taking note of the silence and deciding Jack probably wasn’t up yet.

He loaded the toaster and pressed the button down, and then stared blankly at it for the duration of toasting.

Blackout wasn’t something that happened to him, not since college at least, and he knew he hadn’t totally forgotten last night. It would come back slowly. The aftereffects of alcoholic indulgence would trickle away, and the memories would take it’s place.

The toast was wonderful. He forced himself to drink a glass of water with it, though his insides felt sloshy and unhappy about that. And then he went and laid on the couch, clicking the TV on. He knew he ought to shower. But he just needed a few minutes to feel tired and ill and old.

He watched TV without really seeing it. A man was explaining the water damage in a house’s walls to an unhappy couple.

 

_“Anything, you said?”_

He strained a little to remember. Something about Jack. Something with Jack.

 

When it hit him, he nearly threw up again. The moment his stomach settled, he lurched to his feet and got moving.

 

Jack’s room was empty.

He hurried back to his room, where his phone sat on his bedside table. He hadn’t looked at it yet this morning.

There was just one message. _Staying at Arin and Suzy’s._ It was from Jack.

Mark didn’t hesitate- he called Jack.

It seemed to ring forever. Mark scrubbed a hand through his hair, agitated. He’d drive over if he needed to, hangover and pajamas be damned-

 

“Hullo?” Jack’s voice was raspy and tired-sounding, but it was music to Mark’s ears.

“Jack. Jack! Man, I am _so sorry_ , I had no right. I just- I wasn’t going to do anything, you know that, I was just curious-,”

“Mark, calm down. And don’t be so loud, jesus,” Jack interrupted with a groan. “It’s fine.”

“Like hell it is. I had _no right_ , I went way over the line-,”

“You were drunk. And I was drunk. And you’ve been taking everything way too well for a whole week, I kind of expected something bad to happen, honestly. I mean, I didn’t expect you to do that- I don’t ever expect you to do bad things, I know you’re a good guy. I mean…” He sighed noisily in the phone. “It’s too early for this shit. And phones. Arin is making- I don’t even know, the kitchen is just full of stuff, smells good- why don’t you just c’mon over? In pajamas, because none of us are wearing real clothes. Just grab your keys.”

“ _Do you have whipped cream?_ ” Mark heard Arin call in the background.

“Yeah, I’ll bring that,” Mark said, digging through his drawer for the least wrinkled shirt and clumsily pulling it on, switching the phone from hand to hand.

“Alright. Seriously, no hard feelings or whatever. See you in a min,” Jack said.

“See ya,” Mark replied, and hung up. He grabbed his phone charger too- he hadn’t plugged his phone in when he got home last night, it was a miracle he hadn’t just gone to sleep in jeans. Downstairs, he stepped into a pair of unlaced sneakers and pulled a hoodie on, grabbed his keys, grabbed the whipped cream from the fridge, and went out.

 

Suzy and Arin’s house smelled fantastic. Mark breathed deeply as he toed off his shoes, the smell of warm comfort food helping to soothe his anxiety. He followed his nose to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Arin said cheerfully. He had covered one counter nearly entirely with mixing bowls, each containing a different batter- one was orangey, one was dark brown, one was an alarming green, and some had bits in them. “I thought we all needed a pancake party.”

“There’s coffee in the pot,” Suzy added, looking far less peppy than her significant other. Her cheeks were a little paler blue than normal. Jack sat beside her, hands wrapped around an overlarge ceramic mug, looking even worse. His left eye twitched every time Arin clattered something.

“We’ve got the whole works going, every kind of pancake you can imagine. Chocolate, pumpkin, blueberry, strawberry, cinnamon, banana walnut, matcha, and apple. Dan, Kevin, and Ross and Holly are coming over in half an hour. I figured I’d give you two,” he waved a spatula at Jack and then at Mark, “a few minutes to clear the air.”

“Thanks Arin. This is way too awesome,” Mark said earnestly, impressed with the spread and with his thoughtfulness. He took a mug from the tree (it was a violent pink with white polka dots) and helped himself to a mug of coffee, and went and sat down beside Jack.

 

“So,” Jack said.

“So,” Mark repeated. “I am honestly so _sorry_. I just… I don’t think I realized you’d actually… that it was all-,”

“True?” Jack snorted, looking down at his mug. The tips of his ears were red with embarrassment.

“I, yeah. I guess.”

“We were drunk and it was stupid and nothing came of it, it’s fine.”

“It’s fine? It’s obviously not fine, because you couldn’t even stand to come back to the house,” Mark exclaimed.

Jack shrugged. “I was drunk too. You took off, and I didn’t have a set of keys, and Suzy and Arin offered to let me stay here, and I just… I thought that was a good idea. I wanted to give myself a little space, and give you a little space. I’m over it, though.”

Mark wasn’t ‘over it’. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself, and if he couldn’t even forgive himself, then Jack certainly wouldn’t be able to forgive him either. There was nothing to excuse his actions- not booze, not ignorance- because what he'd done, in his mind, was one of... no, it was  _the worst_ thing you could do to a person. There was no way Jack could actually forgive him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if it's a bit OOC again- I've never personally experienced blackout from drinking too much. (We'll leave it at that...) So I always feel like this is such a foolish trick to play, but it's important to the plot, and next round, we'll find out what happened. DON'T WORRY IT'S PROBABLY NOT AS BAD AS YOU THINK. Everyone just don't panic. Just... just come huddle at the hole in the vacant lot. Just come huddle with us. Who are we? Good question.


	11. Anything, You Said?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two-fer update! Second one this week! Because it's been Thanksgiving weekend and now it's nearly the month of Christmas and I've got spicy hummus and cucumbers and cramps so I decided y'all deserve the next chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> Also- I am SO PLEASED at how many folks caught and appreciated the WTNV reference! You all are fantastic beings!

Mark watched his hand reach up and pluck Jack’s hat from his head. His ankles felt swimmy.

“Hey! What the hell, man? You know I need that!” Jack cried, clapping his suddenly grayish hands over his ears.

Mark dropped it on his own head experimentally.

 

 _Could I turn into a bear now?_ he wondered, only he heard the words out loud too.

“No, doofus, give me my hat back.”

Mark didn’t think he could turn into a bear, but he knew that there were other things he could do with the hat. The tarnkappe.

 

“Anything, you said?” he wondered.

 

Jack’s scowl deepened. “Dude! No. Don’t even-,”

“Turn into a bear,” Mark said. His own voice sounded strange to his ears- like they were layered over with something.

 

Layered over with magic.

 

Jack turned into a bear without hesitation, and Mark felt a heady rush. His hands felt hot. So this was what magic felt like. He liked it.

If he hadn’t been so indulgent in mortal booze, he was sure he’d be drunk from the magic alone.

“Turn back. Into yourself.” And Jack was himself.

“Had your fun now? Give me my hat back. Please,” Jack said whiningly. Mark burst into laughter and could barely speak around it.

 

“Inhale my dong,” Mark laughed.

 

Jack’s knees hit the floor.

 

His fingers reached out and touched Mark’s hips-

 

Mark felt much more sober, suddenly, the laughter gone in an instant. He tore the hat from his head and all but threw it back onto Jack’s head, staggering back a few steps. The emotions he felt were conflicting and turbulent and painful- shock, horror, revulsion, terror, power-rush, amusement, arousal, self-loathing.

Jack sighed, still on his knees in the middle of the bathroom. Mark had hit the sink with his back, as far away as possible.

“I wasn’t fucking joking, Mark, I really do have to do whatever to get my tarnkappe back,” Jack said tiredly, scrubbing a hand over his face.

 

Mark’s hand found the door handle and he fled.

…..

.

…………………

..

.

..

…………………………………..

Mark felt dirty. Monstrous. What he’d done fell in the category of rape- it hadn’t been followed through, it had been stopped in time- but the fact that he’d said it, that he’d put Jack on his knees against his will… Even drunk and uncomprehending of the power, it was unforgivable.

Worse still- the sense of power, the tickle and caress of magic, it was all so enthralling. He wanted it again. He wondered if Jack always felt the brush of magic against the inside of his skin. Mark longed to feel it just one more time, to reassure himself that it was real, it wasn’t a product of intoxication or overimagination.

And then the cherry on top. Completely overriden by revulsion at the situation, the lack of consent, the imbalance of power, but still present- the lurch in his heart at the recollection of Jack’s fingers ghosting over his hips. Separated by layers of cloth, barely touching, but still on him.

 

He would never, ever, ever put Jack in that situation again. It had been against his will.

 

But context aside, it appealed to the flicker of feeling that had slowly been rising within Mark. It made his true emotions visible, and he couldn’t ignore them anymore.

Jack was… he was _special_ to Mark. Somehow, he’d tiptoed from ‘best friend’ to ‘romantic interest’.

Jack- in borrowed sweatpants and too-large t-shirt, knuckly hands relaxed around his mug, shoulders low, head slightly tilted, hair all sticking up- was suddenly really cute. Mark wanted to tuck him into the corners of his elbows and rest his chin in that messy hair.

_Knees hitting the dirty bathroom floor and head bowed, obedient-_

No. Mark had lost his rights to touch.

Blue fingers prodded his shoulder gently, and he looked up at Suzy.

“Look. You fucked up. But it’s okay- now you know better. Quit wallowing in the situation and feeling bad for Jack and for yourself and move on. You didn’t know before. But now you do, and it’s all fine, and it’ll never happen again,” she said firmly. And then she hugged him.

“Now you and Jack hug it out,” she ordered, stepping back and using that commanding voice that all women seemed to have, the one that left absolutely no room for argument or debate.

Jack slipped off the stool, grinning, and grabbed Mark’s shoulders, pulling him in. Mark was slower to respond, hesitant, but he gripped him back, feeling very much like he didn’t deserve this, but wanting to not make himself the victim and going along with Jack.

“Can I hug someone too?” Arin asked, sticking out his lip in an exaggerated pout. Jack, Suzy, and Mark all grabbed him, and he laughed. “Group hug!”

“All right! I would’ve driven faster if I’d known there’d be a group hug!” someone cried, and then suddenly Ross and Danny were doing their best to crush everyone with their arms.

Mark forced his feelings over last night aside and laughed along with the rest.

 

By the time Mark and Jack headed home, everyone was overfull and sleepy again. It was a Sunday afternoon, and Mark felt lazy, but he dutifully edited the videos he’d planned to edit. Happily, it wasn’t a recording day, so he didn’t have to show the internet what a Markiplier hangover looked like, nor put in the effort to force joy and good cheer.

It wasn’t that he was sad, it was that he was… well, to put it bluntly, he felt emotionally constipated. There were too many things he wanted to feel, but he wasn’t allowing himself to feel any of it.

 

That night, after he and Jack had enjoyed steak and salad for supper and had relaxed with their books and phones for a few hours, he lay in bed. Allowing himself the selfish pleasure of acknowledging all his grievances with the world. He formed them into a neat numbered list in his head.

 

1) His best friend and roommate was terrorizing people infrequently via their dreams. He was directly putting discomfort, stress, fear, and even sorrow in their lives. Not quite ‘evil’- Mar refused to admit his life had gotten fantastical enough to apply comic book terms like ‘evil’ to people and things- but not behavior Mark felt comfortable accepting, or enabling, or even allowing.

2) He had forced said best friend into a situation that was inappropriate in every sense of the word. Jack claimed to have forgiven him, but Mark was as humanly insecure as the rest of the world, and felt uncertain of that forgiveness.

3) The same best friend had also somehow become immensely attractive to Mark. Physically attractive, of course. And that was one thing, to find someone beautiful. That could be easily ignored or stifled. That would be just a crush, and crushes were short-term and non-serious, for the most part. But it was another thing entirely that he found Jack’s personality attractive, and his voice attractive, and his sense of humor, and his bedhead, and his habit of trying to hold a conversation while brushing his teeth.

 

Mark sadly concluded that this was all a bit of a mess and there was little he could do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I didn't put any trigger warnings in the tag. I thought about it- there's hints on non-con here- but ultimately decided not to, because it's only the faintest hint of it, and because I don't want to scare folks off. HOWEVER. If anyone things I ought to have warnings in it, then PLEASE TELL ME and I will tag it. I don't mean someone guestimates in the comments that it could possibly upset someone else, in theory. I mean if someone genuinely is upset about this, please let me know. But I think I made the right decision not to.
> 
> Poor Mark. He done goofed bad.


	12. Oh Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit of a longer chapter- tis the season for giving, I guess?- but I couldn't find a cutoff point within this section that I was satisfied with. Usually I give you folks 3-4 pages in word (I write in a google doc in Cambria font size 12, not double spaced but double-enter after each paragraph, in case anyone was wondering) but this one is a little over 6 pages.
> 
> And not Wednesday again. It's probably not important to you guys, but for me it's like UGH WHY CAN'T I PRACTICE WHAT I PREACH and I preach new chapter wednesdays. But that's not happening this week because I'm speaking at a pest and pathogen conference tomorrow about the new European protocols we've been implementing. All very exciting, I assure you. So I won't be around tomorrow to post!

The next day, he recorded and edited.

Jack recorded and edited.

They sat down to dinner- drunken noodles from the Thai place on the other end of town- and ate for a while before Mark asked the question.

 

“Has anyone ever stolen your tarnkappe and really… like, _really_ forced you to do anything?”

 

Jack finished chewing and swallowed and didn’t take another bite, just stared at his plate. Long moments passed.

“No,” he said finally, firmly. Mark knew he was lying; Jack knew that Mark knew he was lying. It was a bad lie. But- it wasn’t so much a lie as a short and obvious way of telling Mark that it was not a conversation they were going to have.

Mark nodded, pretending he believed him, and Jack pretended that Mark believed him too.

 

Mark began to see the other races much more easily. Sometimes the vision came in and out- he could see that the girl at the gas station had horns and green freckles in his rearview mirror, but when he turned to look, her hairline was smooth and complexion was unspotted. In the corner of his eye, as he was leaving, the starbucks barista turned transparent like a human-shaped glass full of water.

“It’s frustrating. They won’t stay visible,” Mark scoffed one day, as he and Jack strolled the grocery store. It was also frustrating how good Jack looked in a turned-up collar and scarf, but he neglected to mention that.

“It’ll settle out,” Jack said mildly, comparing boxes of macaroni and cheese. He stuck one of the boxes in Mark’s face. “Would spongebob shaped macaroni make you feel better?”

“Would spongebob shaped macaroni speed up my sight in settling out?” Mark asked.

“No.”

“Then no, I don’t- well, don’t put it back, I do want it,” he said, leaning over the cart to snatch it from Jack and drop it in the cart. “I just…” He sighed heavily and angrily to show how he felt about all of this sight malarkey.

“I suggest you spend more time looking at them. I mean- don’t stare, don’t be a dumbass about it- but force your head to stop plastering fake human features on them, force your head to really see them.”

“I asked Arin about it.”

“Arin wouldn’t be any help, he’s never struggled with it, because he’s got the true Sight,” Jack said reasonably.

“I know, but… he’s the only other human who I can talk to about this. And even so- it’s not… You all are so effortless about this. It’s your lives, it’s how it’s always been and always will be.”

 

Jack was digging through cans, and something about his actions made it obvious that he wasn’t really looking for something, he was avoiding looking at Mark. “Did it ever occur to you… your brother might be someone to talk to?”

“Tom? He doesn’t- why would I be able to talk to him? Isn’t this all secret?”

Jack turned and revealed the guilty grin on his face. “Did it ever occur to you… that he might already be in on it?”

Mark’s jaw dropped. His mouth literally fell open with surprise, before he realized how comic that was and closed it quickly. Then opened it again.

“Are you… are you fucking serious?”

Jack shrugged. “Don’t go leaping to conclusions, I don’t actually know if he knows, but… he has that comic, Two Kinds, and there are some things in there that are… a little alarmingly… accurate. I just think- I don’t even know how you’d go about asking- but I think you should put out some feelers. See if he’s on the know.”

Mark steered the cart a little mindlessly for a few minutes, completely thrown by the idea. Something else occurred to him, and his stomach lurched.

 

“What if… Are there other races who are born randomly? Who aren’t, like… genetic. You know how you’re an alp but your family is normal? Does that happen ever?” Mark asked.

One of Jack’s brows went up. “Well… yeah. Actually… I’ve never met your brother, so I don’t actually know if he’s not human. Photos don’t mean a lot- everyone looks human in photos, something to do with the human-ness of the technology, and the other races not conveying well across photos. And you haven’t seen him since you’ve started to see other races, so… he could very well be another race. But I’m not sure we should jump to that conclusion.”

“Why?”

“Well… non-genetic races, as you called them, are pretty rare. I think I could probably count all of them on one hand. And it’s usually linked to weird things happening at birth. We should probably just wait until we see him before we start assuming stuff, you know?”

“Hm. Maybe we are jumping to conclusions,” Mark agreed. “We went from ‘his comics are kind of accurate’ to ‘he’s not human’. That is a pretty big jump, I guess.” He laughed a little. “And what would be the chances that I’ve inadvertently surrounded myself with non-humans? I mean, c’mon. Just because this world exists doesn’t mean it’s at the root of everything and everyone in my life.”

 

After they bought their groceries, went home, and unloaded, the Cyndago boys came over. Jack had mentioned he wanted to cook, and cooking a big meal for just two people meant leftovers for days- so they liked to invite people over to help eat it. Jack had promised the best pork tenderloin they’d ever had.

Jack was bustling away in the kitchen- hollering at Mark for threatening to get him an apron- when there was a knock at the door. Jack was covered in homemade ‘secret’ sauce up to his elbows, so Mark went to answer it.

He opened the door, and let Daniel and Ryan in with a smile.

“Evening, gentleman,” he said teasingly, stepping back to let them take their shoes and jackets off. “Daniel, you’ve got leaves in your-,” he started, reaching forward to pull them out.

 

They were not in his hair. They were a part of his hair.

 

“Welcome to the real world, buddy,” Ryan said, clapping him on the back and walking past him to the kitchen. “Smells great in here, Jack.”

Mark blinked at Daniel. Daniel grinned shyly back. “Uh. Yeah. Banshee. Leaves and sticks and shit grows out of my scalp. Bark nails. Hears death. Just normal me,” he told him, and then followed Ryan into the kitchen.

Mark pressed his knuckles against his mouth hard for a few seconds, fighting a wild grin, before going to join everyone.

“Took you long enough to come out of the closet,” Ryan was taunting Jack. In response, Jack smacked him in the nose with a spoon.

“I did an excellent job of keeping a big secret! Just because your roommate has no skill for subtlety doesn’t mean I suck,” Jack scoffed as Ryan howled, holding his nose.

“I don’t even know why you hid it for so long. That must’ve been exhausting,” Daniel laughed, sitting down at the counter. Mark got four beers out of the fridge and handed them out.

“I don’t know why you dropped your bomb so soon- you’re not even hard to pass as normal, you’ve got nothing weird going.”

“Ryan’s dog was dying and I screamed.”

“So? Death is scary!”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know, I was way younger when I told him, I just didn’t want to hide it.”

Jack shrugged, folding up the meat and sauce in tin foil and putting it in the oven, along with a few potatoes and a dish of green bean casserole. “Your choice.”

“So you hear death? What does that sound like?”

“Like a bucket being kicked. Like the that saint guy’s bell going off. Like an angelic choir,” Daniel said with a grin.

“Har de har.”

“Honestly, it sounds kind of like tinnitus. Comes with a feeling, too- like who it’s coming for. Like- you ever watch a basketball game, or a soccer game, and the ball goes wide and you see one person out of the crowd, and you just know- it’s gonna hit that person right in the face. You just know it. It’s like that.”

“Can you tell anything about it? Like- how someone is going to die? Do you have to be right near the person dying?”

“This is the most grim dinner conversation. I can’t bring you anywhere,” Ryan grumbled, swigging his beer. Daniel ignored him.

“If I really try hard to focus on it, and really think about it a lot, sometimes I can get an idea of how it’s going to happen. I can’t pinpoint it exactly, usually- like, I couldn’t predict exactly the moment my grandfather was going to pass away, or whether it would be the cancer shutting down his lungs or causing a stroke or anything, but when the day he was going to pass came, I just woke up that morning and knew- it’s today. And I knew it was going to be his cancer, because that was obvious. But in other cases- I had a neighbor who neglected the shit out of his dog, just left the poor thing outside all the time, and it howled all the time, and one night it was howling and I- I screamed, and then I knew that it was going to be hit by a car, that night. I could hear the screeching brakes and the thump.”

 

Mark stared at him. “That’s disturbing.”

He shrugged. “Probably sounds that way. I try not to focus on it, because the details are a little disturbing, but the natural sense of it feels normal. I mean, I don’t know what life would be like without it. I’ve been this way for my whole life. And my family is too.”

“What about near-death stuff? If I got hit by a car and my heart stopped and I got shocked back to life? Or if Jack got mugged and clubbed nearly to death?”

“If I’m close to the person- not physically, but like, we spend a lot of time to each other, I’m a little bit more sensitive to stuff like that. My dad is an electrician, and he got electrocuted really bad that day. I didn’t predict it, but I shouted a little when it happened. My mum knew that morning that something bad was going to happen, and she warned him.”

“Would you know if I got hit by a car? Are we that close?”

“I think so, yeah. Maybe not if it was just a small accident, if you just broke your arm or something, but if it was really life-threatening, then yeah. You’re kind of in my sense-danger-zone too,” he said, pointing at Jack. Jack grinned.

“I’m flattered,” Jack trilled in an awful falsetto.

“I’m in his inner circle,” Ryan said proudly, and he and Daniel clinked bottles. “Remember when I was super sick a few years ago, and I didn’t want to go to the hospital for ages, and then Daniel dragged me there?”

“Yeah, you had, like, mega-pneumonia,” Mark remembered. “You had to stay a few nights there and get your lungs drained.”

“Right, well, Daniel told me I was going to pass out all day, and I finally agreed to go to the hospital, and I blacked out in the waiting room at the ER. It wasn’t all that life-threatening, but he still could sense it.”

“Dumbass. It was so annoying, hearing your rattling lungs in my head all day,” Daniel said, but he smiled.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think either of us knew how well tuned you were to me,” Ryan shrugged.

“What about yourself? Will you hear your own death? Or any bad things?”

Daniel grinned ruefully. “Nope. That’s kind of the catch of being a banshee. I mean, we’re born by other banshees, but as a general rule, we don’t tell each other when we’re going to die, because that’s… it’s just not polite. It kind of ruins your last days alive.”

“It kinda would, wouldn’t it,” Jack mused. “I didn’t know that bit.”

Daniel shrugged. “I bet there’s lots about alps I don’t know. When we first met- there were so many humans around, and I was like- holy _fuck_ , a fucking alp- I had so much I wanted to say and ask, but I couldn’t. And there were so many other times I wanted to say something, but you hadn’t let Mark know yet, so I had to just keep myself shut up. I’m glad he’s finally in the know.”

“Me too,” Mark laughed.

 

They played cards as dinner cooked- after Mark got reassurance from Daniel that he wouldn’t use his mystical banshee-psychicness to cheat.

When supper was served and they were all eating, Mark asked, “You can sense all sort of cool stuff- can you sense if someone isn’t human, without seeing them face to face?”

Daniel frowned. “No. As far as I know, nobody can do that. Why?”

“I was just curious what else you can do,” he answered simply.

“I can juggle four balls at once.”

Mark was fairly sure that wasn’t a banshee-specific skill.

They finished supper, and a few more beers, and all moved to the living room, where Jack gave an animated explanation of how the bookshelf fell, punctuating it by turning into a bear again to demonstrate each part. Ryan pulled a few DVD cases off the shelf and lobbed them at Mark, who screamed with fake fear.

“Why didn’t you sense that I was gonna get crushed half to death?” Mark asked Daniel.

“Half to death? No, no way- you only got a little squished. It wasn’t life threatening. If it had been half to death, I probably would’ve sensed it, but you’re pretty okay,” he scoffed.

They had a few more drinks, played a few rounds of Mario Kart, and a little bit of Cards Against Humanities, but eventually, they were all yawning, noticing the late hour. Daniel and Ryan left their car and took a cab home, and Jack and Mark went to bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was bound to happen eventually. It was a normal enough occurrence for Mark, but he’d never had any reason to think much about it when it happened. But things had changed. So when it happened, he reacted badly.

 

 

 

Mark had a nightmare.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was bound to happen eventually.
> 
> So I wrote this part after Daniel's death. It wasn't written before. I knew he was dead when I wrote this part. However, I am extremely adept at cognitive dissonance and temporary suspension of disbelief. And this is alp-fairy-supernatural-stuff AU so I can do what I want. And I want Daniel to live. I don't want to put the grief that his passing would bring in this story, I don't want to pretend he never existed. I did, however, as a sort of hat tip, make him a banshee. A subtle acknowledgement of our universe's Daniel dying. I'm not completely ignoring it- I'm just twisting his relationship with death a little. In this universe, death didn't take him, it just sort of... hangs out in his vocal chords. I didn't want to completely ignore the fact that he died and write him as alive and well and a magical boy. I wanted to... I don't know.
> 
> ((Please don't take offense to anything- I'm not making light of his death, I'm just trying to explain why I did what I did. I like this universe better than ours- a universe where mythical races exist, and nerd youtube boys live together, and Daniel is hearing death rather than experiencing death.))


	13. Terrorized

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello hey! New chapter! It's Wednesday! I don't have much to say today. I guess. I haven't had many words this week. Not sure why. Did you take my words?
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone for the comments, because reading your responses is a balm to my soul. Brings me joy. I love the validation that people read my work, that I'm not just shouting into empty void.

Mark had a nightmare.

 

He hardly remembered falling asleep- just forcing himself to brush his teeth, dressing down to his boxers, and crawling into bed with his phone in his hand, intending to scroll through tumblr until he fell asleep. He didn’t even get as far as opening the app.

 

 

He was looking out his bedroom window, but the view was wrong. Instead of green, sunny, spaciously populated LA, he was looking out across a field of grain. It stretched far into the distance, flat and far in a strange and unnatural way that made him feel scared in the pit of his stomach.

The dread rose, paralyzing. This was wrong. It was so wrong. And…

 

Something very bad was about to happen.

 

There was no sign of it, just a sense of certainty that something bad was going to happen- the kind of bad that leaves you changed forever, and the world around you changed forever, and the people around you changed forever. And there was an inevitability to it as well, like a natural disaster. It was like looking at a tornado barreling toward him, or a tsunami, or a wall of fire- he felt small and helpless against it.

  
  


This bad thing was going to happen, and there was no way to weather it, and no way to stop it.

The fear was nauseating.

 

And then he was rushing forwards, but instead of moving through the field of grain it was just whiteness. There was so much empty space around him- but he felt trapped, claustrophobic, a wild panic working up in him to thrash and fight and escape and survive. There was nothing to fight-

 

_< <You can’t>>_

 

Jack was speaking. He said

_< <There is nothing>>_

_< <You can’t do anything>>_

 

_< <Against us.>>_

 

Mark couldn’t see Jack, he could see nothing but the white space, but it was spotted with black- no, his eyes were half closed, his lashes obscuring the room, and he fought to open them fully, to see fully. How frustrating, to be unable to open his eyes.

 

_< <You are so small>>_

_< <You are nothing>>_

 

His eyes appeared to be fully closed. He couldn’t see.

He couldn’t see.

He couldn’t see as strong hands grabbed his jaw and worked their way in, wrapping over his bottom teeth and forcing his mouth open, squeezing his teeth and gums and jaw, holding his jaw down until his chin lowered, jaw pried down. There was grit on his back teeth, like dirt, and then his teeth were loose and wiggling, being pulled out, his mouth was ruined and his teeth were gone-

 

Mark’s eyes opened, and he breathed heavily for a few moments before forcing his body to move, to escape the bed. He had to get up. He had to get out.

He was on his feet, hands wrapped over his elbows, hugging himself, shivering violently and covered in a cold sweat.

 

Out of his room. Opening the door opposite and going in without invitation or welcome. The door banged against the wall, and Jack startled upright, squinting.

 

“Mark?” he whispered, brow furrowed and blinking.

“I thought you were staying out of my head,” Mark hissed. They were both whispering- there was no real need, but the hour of the night called for whispers, not the full breath of loud speech.

“Th’fuck are you talking about?” Jack groaned, one hand searching for his phone. He pressed the button, and both of them flinched at the dim light. “Jesus, it’s four AM-,”

“You _said_ you were staying out of my head.”

Jack sniffed delicately, and cocked his head. There was something unnatural about it- not the sniff, but the motion, something that a human wouldn’t do. It was birdlike and jarring.

“You had a nightmare?”

“Fuck you. _Fuck you_ ,” Mark snapped.

Jack put his hands up, palms out, in a gesture of peace. “I didn’t give you a nightmare.”

“You fucking-,”

“ _I didn’t give you a nightmare!_ Jesus, I was fucking sleeping,” he grumbled, pushing the blankets back and swinging his feet out of them, grabbing a hoodie from the floor and pulling it on with a shiver. “I wasn’t even in your room.”

“You… you…” Mark was losing steam. The dread and panic from the dream- the nightmare, as it unmistakably was- was fading. He felt a little stupid, and very cold. He hugged his arms tighter over his stomach.

 

Jack wordlessly walked into the hall, and Mark followed him robotically. He felt emotionally and mentally void. When Jack opened Mark’s closet and pulled a hoodie from the top and tossed it at him, he pulled it on without thinking. When Jack went downstairs and into the kitchen, Mark followed without thinking. When Jack turned on the Keurig and sat on the counter, Mark sat beside him without thinking.

“Hot chocolate. Like I promised. I guess our rooms are farther apart than I thought- I was sure I’d be able to sense it. Or I was just really out for the count. Sorry,” Jack said, in a normal voice, not whispering. Mark wasn’t up for speech yet, so he just nodded.

“You can tell me about it if you want. When you want. I swear I won’t get off on it or anything- I’m not all that alp-like right now, it’s just ol’ Jack-a-boy.” His tone was friendly and gentle, like talking to a skittish animal.

Mark didn’t feel ready to talk about it, but the words fell out of his mouth anyways, still in a whisper. “You were there. I was… I was looking out my window, but it wasn’t over LA. I don’t know where I was. But something bad was going to happen, I just knew it, and I felt- there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t see the bad thing, but I could feel it. I knew it was going to happen, and I knew I couldn’t do anything.

“And then you were there.”

Jack slipped off the counter to get out two mugs and two packets of hot chocolate- land o’ lakes ‘warm oatmeal cookie’ hot chocolate, the only kind Mark kept in the house- and Mark watched him, letting the words continue.

“I couldn’t see you, but you were there. In the… we were nowhere. It was like… like in spongebob, when Squidward travels through time and he ends up in that white place. It was like that, and then I couldn’t see, and someone was tearing my teeth out, tearing my jaw off… and you were just speaking. You sounded angry.”

“What was I saying, do you remember?” Jack asked without looking up from the Keurig.

“You… you were saying I was so small, and I was nothing. You said I couldn’t do anything.” He felt he was crying- the shock had worn off and he was a child again, scared and frustrated and small. They were the fat flood of tears that came just through the eyes, that didn’t sniffle or sob, just poured out.

 

Jack put the hot chocolates down on one side of Mark, and stepped forward until his shoulders were touching Mark’s, and his head was on one side of Mark’s head and his arms were around him. Hugging.

 

Mark let himself be hugged limply, the tears rolling hard and fast. His breath hitched, and he didn’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed.

“I’m sorry you had a nightmare, Mark. I should’ve noticed- I should’ve sensed it and came and helped you out of it. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” Jack was mumbling into his shoulder. Mark just shook his head, unable to speak- _not your fault, Jack, don’t apologize, I’m sorry for crying on you_ \- and held him tighter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing an Undertale fic right now as well and that's where most of my attention has been. It's not RPF, there's no Mark or Jack or any youtubers. It takes place wholly in the Undertale universe and centers around Sans. I have a lot of metaphysical and philosophical physics plans for it. A lot of heavy theoretical thinking. I'm not sure if I'll publish it- if I do, I'll put it on my Tumblr, probably. It's really strange science-filled and I don't know if it would make sense to anyone.
> 
> I don't know. Anyways, see y'all next Wednesday.


	14. Parasitic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. GUYS. We are 20 pages away from where I've stopped writing. Holy heck. I need to write more! But. I have very little time right now. Because I've started to build a social life again? Strange. And, you know, holidays. And I'm spending every squick of free time I've got exercising. So that's exhausting.
> 
> Here's your chapter!

They stayed like that for a long time, before Mark felt his tears slow, and he sighed.

“Thanks, Jack,” he whispered, and Jack released him, stepping back, giving him a small grin.

“I’ve got your back, man. I’m here for ya, you know that, you big bubble-blowin’ baby,” he said.

Mark laughed a little- it wasn’t all that funny, but a laugh felt necessary to show Jack that he was okay, and to mark the end of the crying. He noted that Jack was in full alp appearance- teeth sharp, eyes big and blue, his goat-like pupils wide in the darkness, the gray of his skin barely detectable in the dim light, ears pointing up out of his bedhead.

 

Jack took both the mugs and went up to his room, Mark following again, finally starting to feel a little embarrassed about his child-like behavior, but not wanting to be alone.

Jack put one mug on one bedside table, and the other on the other bedside table. He sat on the bed, back against the headboard, and patted the other side of the bed. Mark climbed up and mirrored him, taking his mug and pressing his palms into it.

“Teeth coming out is a pretty common thing in nightmares. I looked it up once- Freud said it was sexual repression, of course, because he’s Freud and that’s all he ever saw in life. But most dream interpretations said it was fear of change and a loss of power that makes you dream of teeth falling out. Chinese lore says that when you lie, your teeth fall out, so there’s that idea- that you’re hiding something or lying a lot. That car-salesman-looking doctor guy, Doctor Oz, says that it’s because you said something you shouldn’t have.”

Mark snorted lightly and blew across the top of his hot chocolate. “Is it really a common nightmare?”

“More than you’d believe. It’s very strange- how it’s kind of a universal thing. What’s in the human mind that makes all of them dream of their teeth falling out?” Jack mused.

Mark glanced sideways at him- even in full alp form, it was hard to see him as not human. Especially now, with bedhead and a hoodie and boxers, holding a mug of hot chocolate, face sleepy and thoughtful all at once. His pointed ears were barely noticeable, and in the darkness his gray skin and inhuman eyes were concealed.

 

He looked so very human. And so very cute.

 

“I can’t think of you as not-human, right now,” Mark said, deciding to keep the latter part of his thoughts to himself. “You’re in boxers and a hoodie, you’ve only got one sock on and your skin is all pale and hairy, and you’ve got bedhead and hot chocolate. It’s hard to believe that this is what an alp looks like.”

Jack reached up and touched a finger to the point of his ear. Human, cute- and a little sad.

“Is it so bad, that I’m not human?”

“It’s not bad at all. Just different.”

He reached up and replaced Jack’s finger with his own, gently brushing over the point of his ear. It felt normal- soft but firm with flexible cartilage, and Jack shivered again.

“Tell me more about nightmares. What do you have nightmares about?” Mark asked curiously, sipping his hot chocolate.

 

“I don’t. I don’t have nightmares. I don’t dream at all,” Jack said with a sigh, leaning back and tilting his head back, closing his eyes. Mark had to tear his eyes off his throat and focus on his answer.

 

“You don’t… You don’t dream?” This was strange. Mark didn’t know what to think of this information. It struck him as the most inhuman thing about Jack yet, more inhuman than turning into a bear, or smoke, or having sharp teeth and gray skin. He didn’t dream.

“No. I want to miss it, but it’s hard to figure out how to miss something you’ve never had. People talk about dreaming all the time. Sometimes it’s bad- nightmares. Sometimes it’s good. But it’s something I’ll never have.” He sounded wistful.

“That’s… so weird.”

“It’s a little concerning. Because the psychology of dreaming, I guess. I’ve done a lot of research on it, obviously,” he said. Most of what he said, Mark already knew- in studying biology, he’d dipped his toes in the psychology and physiology of dreams, but Mark didn’t interrupt.

“And it’s just amazing, because doctors don’t really know why people dream. Why doesn’t the mind just rest, like all the other organs in the body? What does it make the dreams out of? Why do people dream of the things they dream of? It’s so strange to think of- humans close their eyes and slow their bodies down to an immobile and nearly-dead state, and wildly hallucinate with their eyes closed. Why? What’s- what evolutionarily would’ve led to dreaming being developed? What’s the benefit of it?” Jack continued, shaking his head. “And- it’s not just a human thing. Animals dream. Most living things dream.”

“So why are alps the exception?” Mark mused, and Jack nodded, reaching for his hot chocolate and blowing on it. Mark sipped at his.

“Exactly.”

“Maybe that’s why you sort of need to go in people’s heads. You don’t have your own dreams, so you have to parasitize off others.”

Jack shrugged. “That’s the idea I’ve had.”

“What happens if you don’t… parasitize?”

“I get really unpleasant. I stop sleeping, I get all sorts of appetite issues- from eating everything in sight, to being physically ill- I get really nasty moody.”

 

It sounded a lot, to Mark, like- “Like withdrawal?”

Jack closed his eyes and sighed. “I know,” he said in a low voice. “It’s… it sounds like withdrawal. It looks like withdrawal. I’ve never done drugs, but if I had to guess, I’d say it feels like withdrawal. Don’t think I haven’t drawn this connection before.”

“Nightmares are a drug to you.” It wasn’t a question.

Jack didn’t answer.

“What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without nightmares?”

“Three weeks. It wasn’t pretty. I don’t think- it’s different than a drug. It’s not a drug. Because there’s no end to the withdrawal. It’s my very nature, it’s not a chemical that’s fucked up my system. I don’t get over the withdrawal, it just gets worse and worse. I honestly- I… I think I would’ve died if I went much longer.”

Mark wanted to take him seriously- but of course it would feel that way. Addicts in withdrawal claimed they were dying, begged, said it was killing them.

A mental image of Jack like that- sweating, hollow eyed, brittle-boned and begging- came to mind for an instant, before Mark shuddered it away.

“Why did you stop?”

“My sister got mono.”

Mark’s brow furrowed- he failed to connect how withdrawing from nightmares connected to his sister’s health. Jack took a long drink of his hot chocolate and swallowed before continuing.

 

“I mean- she got mono, like, bad. And got complications- pneumonia too. I had been worried about her, at first, when we didn’t know what it was. I took care of her, I didn’t want to leave her side for a minute. I was sure she was dying, so I took a week off. I was sleeping in her room to make sure- I don’t know, I thought she was going to stop breathing in the night, she was so weak. I was twelve at the time.

“And then she ended up in the hospital, and when they found out what it was, they wanted her to stay a few weeks, because she was having a hard time drinking and eating, and pretty much doing everything. Mono makes you so weak and tired, and they said her spleen was so huge that they were nearly certain it was going to rupture, but it didn’t. I stayed with her in the hospital the whole time. At the end of the second week… I was feeling awful, and they wanted to test me, make sure I didn’t have mono too. It came up negative, and that’s when I realized what was going on.

“It had been eight days since I’d terrorized anyone, and I was a mess. I was crying at my sister’s bedside, sure she was going to die, and then I was snapping at my Ma and Pa, and at the doctors, and I was hungry all the time, but also a little queasy, and then after a few days of that, I got really sick. I was barfing my guts out, and I had such a bad headache that I couldn’t handle any light at all, and my sister was convinced I’d caught mono from her, even though the symptoms didn’t match.

“I got really dehydrated, and since I was there in the hospital anyways, it was decided that I should be put on an IV to get fluids in and given a bed. I couldn’t leave, and it was another few days before… before my sister had a nightmare.” He sighed the last words, and rubbed his eyes, looking rueful.

 

“You terrorized her,” Mark realized.

“Yeah. And then I was well enough to leave the hospital. My family thought I was nuts- I hadn’t left my sister’s side except to piss for three weeks, and then suddenly one morning I was recovered and out the door like a madman. I felt awful. I couldn’t even look at her. I went home and my first night home, I didn’t sleep. I spent the whole night in town, glutting myself on nightmares. It took forever to be able to look my sister in the eyes again. Since then, I’ve never gone more than a week without nightmares, because I don’t… I can’t have something like that happen again.”

Mark wondered what his sister’s nightmare had been about, and if the Jack’s horror had been about the act of terrorizing her and crossing that line, or the invasion of mind space, or the contents of the nightmare. He wondered what would happen if Jack was hospitalized for real, for a long time, enough that he couldn’t terrorize anyone. He wondered if Jack would never be able to look him in the eye if Jack terrorized him.

 

And he mourned the entire situation. A terrified young boy, sure his sister would die. The slow realization of what was happening to him, after he was bedridden and hooked up to an IV and it was too late to leave and get the nightmares he needed. Those final moments- he could picture, in his head, a young Jack sitting upright in bed, staring at his fitfully sleeping sister, telling himself no until he finally said yes. And the aftermath- after this, Jack would never quit terrorizing people. It was a bad situation all around. Jack had ample reason to fear quitting, but continuing on wasn’t a good thing, either.

 

He couldn’t not ask. “Is that why you’ve never terrorized me before?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As next week is CHRISTMASTIME OMG THAT'S NEXT WEEK SO SOON YET SO FAR I'm not sure I'll update. I might. I might not. Because it's time to spend with family and such. I've been trying to play the wii with my brother more often, because of bonding and because of exercise. So I don't know what will happen. If you don't hear from me before then, happy holidays!


	15. Don't Make It Weird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter is a bit short, but it's the holidays and I have no time to write because I may or may not be slipping back into calorie counting and obsessive exercising again. So I'm a little preoccupied. I hope y'all can excuse that? Enjoy the chapter!

He couldn’t not ask. “Is that why you’ve never terrorized me before?”

 

Jack cut him a sharp look, as if he hadn’t expected Mark to be so perceptive, or so forward. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… do you see me as family? Do you think that if you terrorized me, you’d never be able to look at me again?”

“I don’t… I mean, I don’t see you like I saw my sister. I looked up to her, because she was my big sister, but at the same time, I wanted to protect her, like a big brother would. I don’t… I see you very differently than that. It was just… I invaded her head, I gave her awful nightmares, I wasn’t protecting her, and after I’d been in her head and seen her shake with fear- fear of  _ me _ \- it was hard to see her as the idol I always had.”

“So why haven’t you been in my head, then? You’re not trying to protect me, and I hope you’re not idolizing me, because I thought we were closer friends than that,” Mark said bluntly.

“Your head is private. It’s like- how it’s easier to be rude to a stranger than it is to be rude to a close friend. A stranger, it’s just one encounter and then gone. There’s no connecting there, no relationship to harm. Or like- if I was to go through a stranger’s underwear drawer, it wouldn’t really mean anything, because it’s just… it’s separate from my life, it doesn’t mean anything at all. But if I was to go through yours, it would be a little weird. Not that underwear is all that personal. I don’t think it would be that weird, but… do you get it?”

“I hope underwear isn’t weird,” Mark snorted, considering the fact that both of them were in their boxers. “But I get what you’re saying.”

“It’d be like… if you had to kiss a random person on the street. It’s a little awkward. Or if you had to kiss Wade. Then it’s really awkward.”

That was a better analogy, but the talk of kissing made Mark blush. And the casual talk of boys kissing boys.

 

“What if I asked you to go in my head?” Mark wanted to shove his fist in his mouth the second he said it. Because- they were just comparing it to kissing, and this thing they’d compared to kissing, he’d just asked him to do, and that was dangerous territory. And because Mark did  _ not _ need Jack in his head, seeing his subconscious thoughts.

Jack snorted. “What, and give you nightmares? If you want hot chocolate, you don’t need nightmares for it-,”

“Well… do you only ever cause nightmares when you go in someone’s head? What about- can you read their mind, see their thoughts?”

“I can do whatever I want with dreams- they don’t have to be nightmares, but it’s a little harder to make good dreams. Bad dreams is my natural state, it’s what comes easiest. Good dreams are trickier, they take a lot out of me. Nightmares… they’re home turf. They refresh, they don’t exhaust.

“And… No, I can’t exactly see thoughts, but when you’re in someone’s dreams, you’re bound to get a few… ‘impressions’, so to speak. You can figure out a little about how they think by observing a dream, of course. And I can influence the dreams- to be a good dream, to find out what they like, or to be a bad dream, and find out what they fear. There is, however, legends that say if I turn into smoke and go into an awake person’s head… they say alps can possess people like that.”

“But you don’t know?” Mark asked, a little incredulous. “How do you not know?”

 

“I’ve never met another alp before, for one. So I don’t really have anyone to ask. I just learned about myself via what the rest of the other races know about alps, and from first hand experience, and instinct,” Jack said.

“But why haven’t you tried it?” Mark pressed.

“There’s conflicting lore. See, some folks say alps can possess people by being breathed in as smoke… and others say that, if you wake up and find an alp about to terrorize your dreams, if you breathe in the smoke you can master their powers. So- you wake up, see an alp on your chest turning into smoke, you huff that shit up real quick, and then you prevent the alp attack and pretty much absorb them. The alp is trapped, possessed by  _ you _ , rather than the other way around, and you’ve got a newfound… shapeshifting ability? People don’t seem certain what powers exactly are absorbed.” Jack grinned ruefully. “So that’s why I haven’t tried it.”

Mark grimaced- that made sense. A 50-50 chance of possessing someone, or being absorbed.

 

Jack yawned hugely and set his mostly empty mug on the bedside table- it joined about three other mostly empty mugs. He shuffle-squirmed down the headboard until his head was on his pillow. He giggled. “The feel when your pillow is nice and warm… from your butt.”

Mark snorted and set his mug aside as well. “Is it bed time now, then?”

“Yep. I’m tired. C’mon down,” Jack mumbled, grabbing on Mark’s ankle and tugging it.

“What?”

“Lie down, cuddle up. Nothing wrong with two grow-ass men sharing a bed. You had a nightmare and I’ve gotten accustomed to your body heat, if you leave then you’ll be scared and I’ll be cold. C’mon.”

Mark, a little bemused, slipped down to lie beside Jack. Jack sat up for a moment to retrieve the blankets- most of which had been shoved down to the foot of the bed- and pulled them up over both of them.

Mark squished up the pillow a little- Jack’s were much flatter than his, so he doubled it up. Better.

“And this way, I’ll be  _ sure _ to notice if you’re having a nightmare,” Jack sighed, burrowing down under the covers until only the bridge of his nose and his eyes were visible.

“Good idea.” There were a few long moments of silence. Mark couldn’t resist saying it. “No homo.”

Jack snorted with laughter. “You fucking- seriously?”

“Gotta make sure you’re not planning on shimmying over here in the night.”

“Well, I say  _ all _ the homo. You know you want this,” Jack yawned. Mark tried to waggle his eyebrows at him, but got caught in a yawn as well.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” Jack scolded him. Mark rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He felt utterly at ease and completely undeserving of it all.

 

_ You had a nightmare? _

 

_ Knees on a dirty bathroom floor, head bowed- _

 

He was  _ completely _ undeserving of it all. This wasn’t how the world was supposed to work. He’d all but forced his friend to come out about his true nature to him, and he’d- inadvertently, sure but it counted- nearly forced him to do a… really  _ not _ okay thing… and he’d just an hour ago been hollering  _ f uck you _ at him.

No wonder he’d had a nightmare- he was guilt-riddled to all hell and his subconscious was probably right to punish him.

But he fell asleep quickly, guilt overwhelmed by the comfort of hot chocolate and warm sheets and good company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL THE HOMO
> 
> (happy holidays you scurrilous scoundrels)


	16. It's a Slippery Slope...

When he woke, there were a few confused seconds before he opened his eyes. Where was he? His bed was oriented differently than normal. He opened his eyes and remembered. Jack’s room. Right. No homo.

He turned, and saw Jack was still asleep, sprawled out and taking up most of the bed, while Mark had shuffled right up to the edge of the mattress. Mark had most of the blankets- he was sweating like a farm animal, and threw them off. Jack was snoring lightly- not a disruptive saw, but a faint sound with each inhale through his mouth, which was hanging wide open only as an asleep-as-fuck mouth could.

 

Mark recalled a few band trips when, one kid in particular, always seemed to fall asleep with his mouth open, and they’d played a game called What Can We Put In Chris’s Mouth Before He Wakes Up. Once, they’d stacked eight cheeze-its on his tongue before he woke. Another time, a rather hairy tube of chapstick they’d found on the floor of the bus had joined the game. Chris was a good sport, but one kid could only take so much.

He thought about putting something in Jack’s gaping mouth, but decided that would be pretty poor payback for taking care of his bubble-blowing-baby ass at four in the morning. Maybe he’d make breakfast instead.

He slipped out and closed the door behind him, and went to find some pants.

 

An hour and a carton of eggs later, Jack came downstairs, bleary-eyed and bedraggled.

“You made breakfast? Nice! This is way better than most one-night-stand’s,” Jack said, grabbing a piece of heavily buttered toast from the stack.

The pancake Mark was flipping went wide, and he gingerly retrieved it from the floor and discarded it. “No homo, jesus, did I fucking stutter?”

Jack just cackled and went to get a coffee mug. “We’re out of mugs,” he said dejectedly. Mark brandished a spatula at him.

“I took the last clean one- you’ve got about a dozen hoarded up in your room. No coffee for you until you bring them down and wash them.”

Jack groaned, but unless he wanted to drink coffee out of a bowl, he had to listen to Mark. He trudged upstairs and brought down an armload, and went back for a second trip. Mark candidly snapped a picture for his instagram.  _ The struggle of living with a pathological mug-hoarder. _

Jack washed mugs while Mark finished cooking, and then they took their plates out to the back porch. It was chilly out, but they stayed warm with their coffee and thick hoodies, and the sun was nice.

 

Mark began keeping track of how frequently Jack went out and terrorized people. It was usually twice a week, either Mondays and Thursdays or Sundays and Wednesdays.

One week, Jack didn’t go out at the beginning of the week- he had a bad headcold and spent most of Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday laying waste to their stock of dayquil and nyquil and sleeping.

By Wednesday, he was feeling better, so Mark dragged him out to a late showing of a movie and then hooked up with the Game Grumps at a bar. Neither drank much, perhaps still wary of their last drunken night of ‘fun’, but they had great time. When they got home- very late, or rather, early- they both went straight to bed.

On Thursday, Mark spontaneously decided he wanted to drive up to Mountain High for a ski day. Kevin and Dan wanted to come along, so they all packed up Mark’s car and headed out. It was a blast- Jack was pretty good at skiing, Mark was terrible and Kevin wasn’t much better, but Dan was excellent, a fact they all mourned.

 

“You  _ can’t _ be good at  _ everything _ !” Jack whined. “It’s not fair!”

“Sorry, I’ll try to be bad.” He purposely fell over sideways into a snowdrift.

“Even  _ that _ was graceful! Stop it,” Mark laughed. He used his ski pole to fling snow up at Danny, who started throwing it back, and it turned into an all-out every-man-for-himself snow fight. The other folks standing in line at the lift mostly ignored them.

They had a late lunch-early supper at the lodge, peeling off ski pants and jackets and hats to sit and enjoy hot food. They continued skiing and laughing and having a grand time on the mountain until dark, and then they went and soaked in the lodge’s hot tubs for another hour.

Mark sunk down up to his neck, and leaned his head back against the edge, closing his eyes. Jack and Kevin and Dan were laughing, and the hot water felt amazing on his chilled skin. Mentally, physically, and emotionally, he felt incredibly well. A day with friends. A day of exercise. A day of laughter.

 

By the time they headed home, everyone was exhausted, but content. Mark drove back- it was his car, and he knew he wouldn’t doze behind the wheel. Jack fell asleep in the passenger’s seat before they even got to the highway. 

When Mark turned onto their street. After Dan and Kevin were dropped off with their stuff, Jack hadn’t even stirred. Mark wondered if he was going to have to carry Jack inside, but those blue eyes blinked slowly open when Mark turned the car off. Jack roused himself just enough to drop his things inside the door and trudge upstairs to go to bed.

Mark watched, pleased with the day and already trying to think of what they’d do the next night to keep him busy.

 

  
It had been one full week since Jack had terrorized anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't worked on this in far too long because we've been hit by storm after storm and my internet sucks and all I want to do is ski and sleep. Also I spent most of my Christmastime camping out on the bathroom floor. Ick.
> 
> This chapter is kinda short and might seem filler-y but I swear we're getting to something big here. *pitbull voice* it's goin down fo real
> 
> And on that note, I'll see y'all next year.


	17. AUTHOR'S NOTE

I am embarrassed. And ashamed. And so very sorry.

There's nothing I feel I can say to make up for this. I don't really deserve to continue this. My last update was December 2015. It's now July 2017.

It's been an eternity. It's been the blink of an eye.

 

I suppose I've never been good with time. I don't realize how fast it passes, I often feel disconnected from the flow, like I'm waiting for something but I don't know what. I forget that things are permanent, or impermanent. I'm probably a very mentally unhealthy person. And here I am, talking about me me me, starting every sentence with 'I' like this story is about me, like I have a genuine and understandable reason for abandoning things, like anyone gives a shit, like I deserve forgiveness, like it's a serious drama.

 

I've had lots of stuff that's happened, but that's life- a sequence of stuff happening. as if I'm the only one who has 'stuff happen' to them. God. Get over yourself, Fox.

 

I hope people are left here reading this. I hope that all however hundreds of kudos'sers I've got now are still here and will just pick this right back up, but it doesn't even matter if there's hundreds. It matters if there's even one person who wants this to continue.

 

**If there's just one person who's delighted to see this revival, it's worth it.**

 

Mark put out a video about keeping promises. He and Jay also told us the starfish story. I already knew that story. I've heard it. I was raised by good honest people to be a good honest person and keep my promises. How did I forget? How did it get this far?

 

I'm back and I'm going to keep writing. Last week, I suddenly got an inspiration-throat-punch and started writing this again. I've been writing on my phone (good heavens I am so sorry for any typos or errors, why the hell did I think writing on my phone was a good idea- oh wait, my laptop doesn't work and I can only use my work computer now) for about a week and have added 30 pages to the now 91 page manuscript on my google docs. It's almost done.

And as I was writing, I was constantly thinking- what's the point? I abandoned this. Nobody will read it. I shouldn't waste my time. Stop beating the dead horse, write something new. You'll never revive that.

That turned to- finish it so the muse can let it go, so I can move on. Maybe I need closure. But I won't publish it because nobody cares. Nobody will read it. All those people are gone, you wrote something and hooked them and dragged them along and left them halfway down the path in the dirt. You should be ashamed of yourself. Don't continue to lead them on, don't expect them all to come back.

And that turned to- but what if just one comes back? But what if I get a new reader? If only one person is made happy by this, then... isn't it worth it?

 

Here I am. And, shockingly enough, here you are.

 

Thank you.


	18. Free To Be You And Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're smart, you will have skipped my sappy and overly dramatic author's note and have come right here for the story. If you did read it- sorry I was waxing poetic and being dramatic and theatrical and pathetic. The curse of a writer, I suppose. I don't know how to not write that way.
> 
> If you skipped it, here's the summary- FOX BE BACK. we in it for the long haul man!
> 
> I wrote this chapter, and the next four chapters, before my two year hiatus. You might be able to tell I was starting to flounder. sorrysorry. But this is big plot stuff!

It had been one full week since Jack had terrorized anyone.

 

Jack slept late the next morning, and was irritable when he got up. He didn’t say much for most of the afternoon, until Mark suggested they invite the Cyndago boys over to stay the night. He just shrugged, which Mark took as a yes.

 

Mark decided to cook- Jack was in a mood and he didn’t dare ask. He made fajitas, one of the few things he could made well, and Ryan and Daniel brought blondie squares and ice cream.  It was a classic night- movies, video games, popcorn fights, heart-to-hearts. It was another late night for everyone.

 

After they left the next morning, Mark approached Jack while he was editing. “So tonight, I was thinking-,”

 

“Mark,” Jack groaned, taking his hands off the keyboard and rubbing his knuckles against his eyes. “We’ve been busy crazy all week. And it’s been super fun and all, but… I just want a night in.”

 

“You mean a night out,” Mark quipped. He immediately regretted it. Jack lowered his hands and swiveled his chair, giving him a curious look.

 

“Out? What?”

 

“I, uh…” He had nothing to say, no quick save.

 

Jack’s face went from puzzled to angry. “Holy shit, that’s what this has been about, hasn’t it?”

 

“No,” Mark said meekly, trying to play it off with a smile.

 

Jack was overtired, probably behind on editing and doing videos like Mark was, and starting to get into the rough of withdrawal. He wasn’t smiling.

 

“Fucking  _ hell _ , Mark, I can’t fucking believe you. You have no right-  _ no right-  _ to try to control my life like this,” he said, jabbing a finger at him accusingly.

 

“I just thought….”

 

Mark wasn’t sure what he ‘just thought’. He had a lot of thoughts. Maybe he thought he could wean Jack off nightmares, by extending the time between terrorizing folks each time. Maybe he thought that maybe if he kept him distracted enough, he’d be fine. Maybe he thought he wanted to see him go through withdrawal with his own eyes, just to see. Maybe he thought… if Jack went long enough without it, he’d get desperate enough to go in Mark’s head  instead of a stranger’s.

 

“This is manipulative and conniving and… I’ve brought you in the loop of how the world really is, I’ve shared my identity with you and saved your ass and told you everything you wanted to know, really personal alp secrets, and you’ve… you fucking betrayed my trust,” he said, turning away at the last statement, voice cracking slightly. 

 

“I’ve really opened up to you. And you’re sneaking around trying to… what? Trick me into being something I’m not? Because I’m a fucking  _ nightmare creature _ , Mark, I’m  _ not _ a human.” He sometimes lounged around the house in gray-skin goat-eyed alp form out of sheer laziness, but now he consciously dropped it, changing from human to very much not-human between moments. “You can’t just try to change me because you’d rather me be human. I’m really fucking sorry that I am this way, okay? Is that what you want to hear? You want me to apologize for existing? You want me to try harder to be  _ normal _ ?

 

“You’re always so gung-ho about ‘being yourself’- apparently that’s only a part time thing. Be yourself- as long as ‘yourself’ is a totally normal well-functioning human being. As long as ‘yourself’ fits your standards! I just can’t fucking believe you’d do this. You know how shitty this makes me feel? 

 

“I was so pleased that you were taking all this so well, I was so  _ happy _ \- you accepted me, the real me. I’ve lived in fear for  _ years _ that you’d find out, you’d find out and think I’m a monster or someone who you don’t want to be associated with. And when you found out, I was so scared, and when you seemed fine with it all, I was so  _ relieved _ . And- and I felt guilty! I felt guilty that I didn’t trust you with this, guilty for thinking that you were anything less than accepting and caring and a friend! I was beating myself up for underestimating you! But I guess I was right- you just can’t accept it. I had every right to hide it and to be scared. Because you really do think I’m a monster.”

 

There were fat angry tears rolling down Jack’s face, and his voice had cracked several times, and gone up half an octave with stress. Mark just stood, frozen, unable to think, unable to process what was happening. Unable to reply.

  
  


Because everything Jack said was right.

  
  


Jack got to his feet, forcing Mark to step back.

 

“I… I need some time. To just think,” Jack said, scrubbing a hand over his face.

 

Mark nodded, already backing out of the room, a bit relieved- he needed some time as well. “I’ll… I’ll go pick up something for dinner.”

 

“M’kay,” Jack mumbled, and Mark retreated.

 

He drove to the grocery store and picked up stuff for barbeque chicken and loaded baked potatoes, one of Jack’s favorite meals. He took his time, giving Jack some space, while he did a lot of thinking.

 

He didn’t know how to refute Jack’s argument. Mark knew he could lie- he could tell Jack that the idea of him being a monster had never crossed his mind, say that he didn’t think that Jack’s inhumanity wasn’t scary or concerning or something he wished didn’t exist. He could tell him that he had never once thought Jack’s alp nature seemed little dangerous, and it he had never wished that Jack was just a normal human, and he hadn’t tried to sneakily make Jack not terrorize anyone. 

 

He could say all of those things reassuringly, with pleading eyes and a low voice.

 

But he’d betrayed Jack’s trust already, and couldn’t continue with the deception. Jack deserved more than that.

 

And Jack wasn’t the only one hurt- Mark was hurt too. Some of the things Jack had said, about the hypocrisy of his ‘be-yourself’ mindset, and about how little trust Jack had that Mark would remain his friend after he found out, had really stung. Mark wanted to snap back-  _ of course he’s being an ass and lashing out, he’s an addict who needs a fix, an angry junkie- _ but knew that wouldn’t solve anything.

 

He still didn’t know what he was going to say when he arrived home, but he was saved from having to say anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to update this once a week. I WILL NOT PROMISE A DAY. But I will try to post on Tuesdays. Maybe Thursdays too? Twice weekly? Fox, take it down a notch, crazy ho, two a week is nutty bonkers.
> 
> Also could all you guys pray for me for this weekend? I've got my big industry dinner tonight where I've got to schmooze with a bunch of politicians and try not to dishonor my company, and on Saturday I have the road race I've been training for an entire year to race. It kicked my ass last year- 5 miles with the first 3 continuously uphill, the hardest course in the county, at the hottest part of the year. And I really want to get my 40 minute goal this year. I've worked so hard for it and I'm scared it's not going to pay off.
> 
> You guys are amazing. Take care of yourself!


	19. Dissociation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday! You all are SO NICE. Seriously. THE COMMENTS. MY HEART.
> 
> My race went better than I could've expected! Not only did I beat my goal time, but I cut 14 minutes off my time from last year! Yahoo! And I figured, while I'm up, I might as well sign up for a half marathon in the fall and finally hike Katahdin this weekend. So if anyone else is hanging around the end of the Appalachian trail this weekend, hello!
> 
> Anyways. Next chapter!

He still didn’t know what he was going to say when he arrived home, but he was saved from having to say anything at all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Jack was gone.

 

Mark knew it immediately upon entering the house. Jack’s shoes were gone. His coat was gone.

 

Further inspection found his room vacated. Empty closet, pillow gone, most of his things missing. It was about as empty as it could be, considering the short amount of time Mark had been gone.

 

Mark whipped out his cell phone to call him, but hesitated. He went back downstairs and into the kitchen.

 

On the counter was a piece of paper covered in Jack’s handwriting.

  
  
  
  


_ Mark, _

 

_ This wasn’t just some small fight. Your rejection of my very identity was hurtful, sure, but that’s not why I left. I’ve packed up and moved out because this has brought light on our friendship. You are in some sort of denial about who I am, or you’re trying to change it- either way, you’re not friends with the real me, you’re friends with this idea of me- as a human, as someone I’m not. I can’t just ignore this and continue as if this never happened. It would be on my mind all the time. I would feel pressured to pretend to be your idea of me, everything I would do would suddenly be overthought- is Mark going to be okay with this? Is this too inhuman for Mark? Am I scaring him? Is he resenting this? -I don’t want to live like that. I don’t want to try to fit your idea of me, and I don’t want you to be living with what you consider a monster. Because either you’re going to be upset, or you’re going to be trying to change me.  _

 

_ One of us would have to be lying to the other. You would have to lie about being okay with me being inhuman- or I would have to lie about being human. _

 

_ I guess what I’m trying to say is I think we’ve reached an impasse. You’re unwilling to allow my alp lifestyle, a monstrous lifestyle, to continue around you. And I’m unwilling to change who I am- an alp- and change my lifestyle- an alp lifestyle. So I’ve headed out. _

 

_ Don’t call unless you’re honest. Please don’t lie and say you’re fine with me when you clearly aren’t. I thought it would be easier this way- to just slip out. If you genuinely think you can accept the reality of me, then- don’t call. Wait another few days, just to make sure. _

 

_ -Jack _

 

_ ((Sorry about leaving a note like this. I feel pretty childish, sneaking out. And leaving an emotional letter. This all is so angsty and immature, but I don’t think I could do this face-to-face. At least you went out to get food- if you hadn’t, I was going to have to climb out the window, and then it’d be REALLY teenager-y!)) _

 

Mark immediately snatched up his phone again and selected Jack’s face- that one god-awful photo of him that was plastered all over the internet- and hit call, but hit hang up just as quickly.

 

No. He owed it to Jack to be honest.

 

He needed to deal with this before he called him. It was what Jack clearly wanted, from the note. Mark needed to get over his hangups about Jack’s nightmare addiction and inhumanity- and he knew he couldn’t call, because the moment the thought of getting over his hangups crossed his mind, he instinctively replied to it that Jack needed to get over some shit too.

 

It wasn’t just his fault, was it? Damn Jack for acting like such a drama queen. Sneaking out after a fight, leaving a handwritten note, for fucks sake. Who did that? Maybe when Jack was done being a bratty whiney child, maybe when he got a hit of his goddamn nightmare addiction, he’d see some sense and be ready to apologize for being so fucking-

 

No.

 

This was exactly what Jack was talking about.  _ Don’t call unless you’re honest _ .

 

But he was honest. Jack was the one being dishonest. Right?

 

Mark had doubts now. About who was in the right. He had all the reason to loathe the haunting dreams thing, but Jack also couldn’t fight his nature. But Mark couldn’t let it go. He was- dammit, he was morally obliged to fight for the victims of Jack’s haunting, right?

 

He was so conflicted. He wanted to be honest but he wasn’t even sure what that meant in this situation.

 

He went upstairs and closed the door to Jack’s room.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Someone was knocking on the door.

 

Mark blinked and sat up, confused. Who could be knocking? Who even knocked? Why couldn’t they just text and say they’re at his place, like a normal modern human being?

 

He realized his phone was… somewhere. Not on his person. Maybe they had texted.

 

He got up.

 

He walked to the door and opened it, ready to squint at the bright sunlight, but it was dark out.  _ What time is it? _

 

Suzy and Arin were at the door. Both had been frowning and turned to each other, talking, but when they saw him they both smiled brightly.

 

“Mark!” Suzy said, sounding surprised. “Hey!”

 

“It’s alive!” Arin laughed.

 

Mark squinted at them. “What?”

 

“Can we come in?” Suzy asked politely. Mark stepped aside, holding open the door, and they came in, removing scarves and jackets. Mark closed the door after them with a shiver- the late December air was cold.

 

“What’s up?” Mark said, following them into the house.

 

“Just came to visit,” Suzy said casually.

 

“We haven’t seen you in ages,” Arin pointed out. Mark frowned- maybe he had been a little withdrawn lately.

 

“I’ve just… been busy,” Mark said. He felt like he’d been busy. For some reason, it seemed like it took twice the effort and twice the time to just maintain his channel, leaving him no energy to go out.

 

“And by ages, I mean  _ months _ ,” Arin continued.

 

Had it been that long?

 

“We thought… y’know, maybe you needed your space. So we’ve been holding off coming, but honestly, we’re a little worried about you,” Suzy said, finally cutting to the chase.

 

“We used to hang out a few times a week. You were always hanging out with someone- if not the grumps, than with Daniel and Ryan, or Matthias, or Bob and Wade, or… someone.”

 

“But now… you’ve just really closed yourself off.”

 

“Since Jack left,” Arin finished.

 

Mark opened the fridge. “You guys want anything to drink?”

 

“I- no, I want to know that you’re okay!”

 

“I’m okay,” Mark answered easily.   
  


“Goddamnit, Mark, you’re not okay. Nobody’s heard from you since Jack moved out in September,” Suzy accused. He closed the fridge and turned to face them.

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine in all my videos and I’m keeping up with my channel and my community, and nobody thinks anything is wrong. Except you two, apparently.” Mark knew he was being snappy, but they had just marched into his house and informed him that he wasn’t okay.

 

So maybe he had withdrawn a little. Maybe he had started some really irregular and awful eating habits, maybe he had started sleeping odd hours. Maybe he had a beer or two at night to help him sleep, maybe he had run out of things to watch on Netflix and started rewatching the entirety of The Walking Dead. Maybe it had been a while since he’d put on proper pants.

 

“Have you heard from Jack at all?” Suzy asked gently.

 

Mark pressed his knuckles against his teeth. A sob surprised him. He felt water on his face and heat in his eyes, and realized he was crying. It felt distant- like watching a memory of himself crying. It was so sudden- he was a little belligerent one moment, feeling a bit attacked, and then suddenly he was crying? He didn’t feel like he was crying. He felt numb.

 

Suzy sighed and took his elbow, leading him into the living room. They sat down on the couch- Suzy, Mark, and Arin. 

 

“I just- I just wish things could. Go back. To the way they were,” Mark whispered.

 

It had been ages since, but the first stretch of time after Jack left- Mark wasn’t sure how long- he’d stared at Jack’s contact in his phone for long minutes each day. Wanting to call. Aching to call.

 

Fearing to call.

 

He wanted to go back to when it was video games and laughter and cooking and crude humor. Two happy, foolish, nerdy boys who loved their communities and made a living with games.

 

But all he could think of was the furious alp who had used Jack’s voice, rightfully angry of Mark’s tricks and enraged at the hypocrisy of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I need to point out- this, and the next few chapters, I wrote before my hiatus. But you might be able to tell that I personally was starting to feel distant from the story. Which might've been good- I was able to draw on my own dissociative feelings to help write what was happening here. But I was starting to feel a bit aimless, I knew where I wanted to go with this, but wasn't sure how to get there. Apologies if it's coming through in my writing here. I've gone and tweaked a lot of it in the past week.
> 
> Again, thanks to all for the comments and support! Thanks to: StrawberrySailor; Redhead_Maniac; phoenix; strixus; OctoberSpirit; varpushawk; Bookmarker; Dawnieangel76; PrinceyPru; Xzell; bananas_are_good_9; The_angst_goblin; At_the_moment; Kalavara; arsenicLace; Galactic--Squid; PurrtlePuff; Skye; Headphones_and_Notebooks AND all the kudos'ers!  
> (Sorry to some folks for my sudden fit of trashy madness that made me go and reply pretty much unfiltered garbage to their comments. I just had a moment. It probably won't happen again. probably.)


	20. Carry On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING. This chapter has some dark bits. So just... be careful. Take care of yourself, okay? Read lightly. If this hits too close to home, if you need to talk, if I done goofed and wrote something awful, comment and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. <3

He wanted to go back to when it was video games and laughter and cooking and crude humor. Two happy, foolish, nerdy boys who loved their communities and made a living with games.

 

But all he could think of was the furious alp who had used Jack’s voice, rightfully angry of Mark’s tricks and enraged at the hypocrisy of him.

 

Mark knew that if he was to ask Jack to come back, he would continue to try to change his terrorizing habit. Maybe he’d go a month, or a year, or more, without bringing it up, letting it all go on. But eventually, he would start to try to manipulate Jack into not terrorizing people. He knew it was wrong. Jack was a predator of people’s vulnerable subconscious, a nonconsensual invader of their most private place.

 

Mark was especially conscious of the damage Jack inflicted on undeserving sleeping folk. He had nightmares with alarming frequency lately.

 

At first, he’d thought it was Jack. He’d  _ known _ it was Jack. He would wake up and rush to the window, to the door, around the house in search. Looking for a hint of that gray hat, or a wisp of smoke, or the padding of retreating footsteps. He’d been so certain, he bought a game camera and concealed it in his own room. It turned up nothing. He was still in the habit of stopping up every possible entrance to the room before he slept, sealing the edges of the door and window with blankets.

 

The nightmares continued. Ones where he saw nothing, but was overwhelmed with fear to the point of nausea. Ones where he was being chased by something he couldn’t see. Ones where sourceless violence was inflicted upon him until all his teeth came loose and fell out, his skin was beat in like a tin can, he was less and less until his body was destroyed. Sometimes he felt himself break- a strange painless destruction. Sometimes he saw it from outside his body, helplessly witnessing himself crumble. 

 

Ones where he was alone in darkness, and he could see the past and the future stretched far around him, so far that there was no escape from that void place. He felt he would live and die there. Empty of meaning. Absent of companionship.

 

He realized that he was haunted by the nightmares for hours after waking up, he was jumpy and exhausted and it was an absolute battle to try to do anything productive. And he also realized what nightmares could do to someone who was already in a low state of mind. It could very easily be the final straw.

 

_ I am weak I am pathetic I am such a fucking baby jesus fucking christ grow up stop crying you’re fucking fine you fucking useless worthless weak child what the fuck are you doing with your life nobody fucking cares because you’re fucking weak and pathetic and _

_ you should just _

_ die _

 

Mark had wanted to be shocked and horrified at the vicious bursts of thought.

 

He wanted to feel scared. He wanted to be worried.

 

He wanted to feel  _ anything _ .

 

He wanted… it was like homesickness. He felt like a child far from the safe spaces, scared and anxious and pleading the world to just let him go home, go back to where it was all going to be okay. But he was home, wasn’t he? This was his house, this was his safe and comfortable place. Right? The feeling didn’t obey logic.  _ I want to go home! _

 

“Why did he leave?” Arin asked quietly.

 

That hadn’t occurred to Mark. Nobody except him knew why Jack had left. Of course they hadn’t known- who would’ve told them?

 

“Back in September, for the week before he left. We had a fight,” Mark said, throat dry.

 

“But everything seemed fine. You guys were having a great week- you were out doing fun stuff every day. Everything seemed excellent,” Arin said, bemused.

 

“I was trying really hard to do that- to do fun stuff every day. Or every night, at least.”

 

“You were trying to keep him from terrorizing people,” Arin realized. Mark nodded.

 

“We’d had a conversation a while before that.” Mark hesitated, unsure if he was spilling alpkind secrets, but then decided it didn’t matter. “I was asking him about dreams and nightmares and alps. I learned that… that alps don’t dream at all, they don’t have dreams or nightmares, and that’s why we think alps need to terrorize people. And he said if he goes a long time without terrorizing anyone, he goes through… like, withdrawal? He said the most he ever went was three weeks and he got really sick and angry and ended up terrorizing one of his family members…” Mark thought again about how Jack could justify his terrorizing to himself. Of course Mark was right, of course he was a monster- Jack’s own horror about terrorizing his sister was proof of that. And everyone he terrorized, they could be someone’s sister, someone’s brother, daughter, son, mother, father, friend…

 

“So he said he usually caused nightmares in folks twice a week, and he never went more than a week. And I… I don’t know why I did it, I was just curious what would happen, and I wanted to- I thought I could help him get through it and realize he didn’t have to terrorize anyone, I thought… I could make him not be a monster anymore.”

 

“Oh, Mark,” Suzy sighed. “What happened?”

 

“He had that really bad cold for a few days. And then, when he was well enough to start terrorizing people again, I started… I was purposely taking him out to exhaust him and to keep him busy so he couldn’t terrorize anyone. And he found out.”

 

“And he left?”

 

Mark nodded and wiped his nose with his sleeve. “He said we were at an impasse. He couldn’t change, he isn’t human and never will be, he won’t stop terrorizing people… and I won’t be able to just let him do that to people. Either I would try to stop him- which he wasn’t okay with- or he would continue- which I wasn’t okay with. So he just…. left.”

 

“But they’re just nightmares, why do you want him to stop so bad? You think his causing nightmares is bad enough that you ended your relationship?” Arin asked, bemused.

 

“It’s not just the nightmares- I mean, it is those too. It’s…. nightmares can…. they can have a really profound effect on a person, especially if they’re… y’know…” he trailed off.

 

“Low-key depressed?” Suzy filled in for him. “Or struggling with any kind of mental illness?”

 

Mark nodded.

 

Arin rubbed his shoulder in a sort of friendly, comforting manner. “Look. I don’t have an answer for your fight with Jack- I have no idea what to tell you, or what the right answer is in this situation. Should Jack concede to you, or should you concede to him? I don’t know. I wish I had all the answers, but I don’t.”

 

“I don’t expect you guys to come in and blow my mind with all the solutions to all my problems,” Mark snorted.

 

“Good. But what I can do for you is try to help you get your life back.” Mark opened his mouth hotly, ready to argue, but Arin continued over him. “Seriously, I know you’ve been keeping up with your videos, but you used to- you need to get out of this house and get some air. You used to hang out with people and go to bars and go to the gym- when’s the last time you did any of that?”

 

Mark scowled, but he knew he was right. “Alright, fine, whatever.”

 

Suzy jumped up and held out her hands to each of them, pulling them up to their feet. “Good. Then go put some proper jeans on- we’re going to go out to pizza. Dan and Ross and Holly and Kevin and Bryan are all coming.”

 

Mark managed to do it. Slowly, with baby steps, and heavily employing the fake-it-till-you-make-it tactic, he began socializing again. He plastered on a smile and forced himself to go out at first, but usually at some point the smile would cease being fake and he would find himself in real great belly laughs and good conversation. His friends helped put the enthusiasm and energy back into his life. He started eating healthy- not just eating right, but eating healthier than he ever had before, and he started exercising more, and trying to pour himself into his channel, rather than just maintaining it.

 

He went from one extreme to the other- from barely continuing with life, just sustaining what he had going, to burying himself in everything he could. From wallowing in sorrow to bottling it all up, working himself to exhaustion so he didn’t even have the energy to be sad, being aggressively productive as if to fill the hole in his life.

 

He still didn’t hear from Jack. Once, he forced himself to check Jack’s social media- he hadn’t even peeked at it in ages, his eyes simply skimming over that green septiceye, but now he really looked.

 

And saw that Jack’s channel and his networks nearly mirrored his. Everything had continued exactly as normal. Even in his videos, it was impossible to tell he’d had a fight and moved out- he still had the same backdrop and setup. Only the slightest change in the lighting gave any indication that something had changed.

 

He began laughing and then began crying and then he closed the browser and went to go make a smoothie and take Chica on a walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little too relatable to me. Anyone else go through these cycles? I'm a person of extremes, I'm either invisible and useless or loud and bright and aggressively productive. There's no in between for me. I do everything with my whole self, I wholly despair or I wholly thrive. (One day I'll get my butt to a shrink, but as long as my life isn't actually a train wreck, I don't need it, right? Sure. Shh. It's fine!)
> 
> I did a stupid thing Tuesday- I decided to run a practice half marathon? Because if I'm gonna sign up for one, I wanted to know what it feels like to run 13 miles. Make sense? Except I was stupid and didn't do my research and just thought 'it's just a longer than normal run, I've run 10 miles before, what's another three?' And then I did it and apparently when you're running distances that long, your body does all sorts of interesting things that you've probably never experienced before. Like your glucose can become completely depleted, especially if you eat a low-carb diet of nothing but veggies and fish like me. And your digestive tract can completely halt all processes to try and get blood and fuel to your muscles. And dehydration can occur, no matter how hydrated you were before the run, about two hours later you're suffering. And because your digestive tract is offline, when you finish and drink water and eat carrots to try and recover, your body doesn't absorb it and your stomach isn't processing it, so instead it tries to reject it. Probably didn't help that I ran the whole thing faster than most people run proper half marathon races. I spent three hours lying on a couch trying so hard to not vomit all the water and food I packed down before I realized my body had entered this weird mode.
> 
> In a nutshell: check yoself before you wreck yoself. (check your research before doing something you've never done before). Happily though, the only problems I had occured after I finished running, so if I can figure out this whole glucose/electrolyte gel stuff that most marathon runners do, I might actually be able to kick ass at the race!


	21. Admitting It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know who's nice? YOU. <3   
> (it's not tuesday or thursday, it's wednesday. I know my days. whee. just one update this week and I picked the middle day. any problems? if you do, git.)

It wasn’t easy, getting back into a social life. People had questions. Some folks didn’t say anything, choosing to not pry, but Mark could see the curiosity in their eyes. Those were the worst- Mark could see them making assumptions, guesses, speculating. He wanted to clear it up and make sure they knew everything was fine, to knock down some of the rumors, but didn’t want to be the one to bring it up first. Some folks openly asked what happened, and Mark was honest- he had just fallen out of habit of socializing, completely unintentionally, and gotten in a sort of rut. He assured everyone he was fine, and there was disbelief, but he pushed himself to act happy and normal until the uncertainty was gone.

 

He went to Cincinnati and had Christmas with his family. Tom asked him about Jack, and Mark told him that they’d had an argument and he’d left. Tom didn’t ask if he was okay- they were such close brothers that it was certain he could tell exactly how Mark was. He was understanding and tactful, and helped shield Mark from the questions of his parents. 

 

And further, showing a bit more insight that Mark was comfortable with, he helped Mark deflect family member’s questions about Mark’s romantic life, or rather lack thereof. They always asked, especially around winter holidays, but this year seemed worse, and with the loss of Jack… Mark would only be trying to convince himself if he said their relationship was perfectly platonic. Thomas protected him from questions at his own expense, drawing attention to his moaning that his girlfriend couldn’t come, and even telling some silly and embarrassing stories about his relationships. Each time it came up, Thomas skillfully deflected the attention from Mark to himself. Mark loved his brother more than ever.

 

Thomas was human, too. His whole family was.

 

Mark could still see the others. He could see the leaves in Daniel’s hair, Suzy’s blue skin, and the peculiar characteristics of others that set them apart from humans. Just because he’d lost Jack didn’t mean he’d lost his knowledge of the working of the world.

 

Wade and Bob came to visit immediately following Christmas, and Mark did his first livestream in a long time with them by his side.

 

On the first night of their visit, they were all sleeping in the living room, an old tradition that Wade and Mark had as children, and that they had rather forcefully taught Bob. Their sleepovers had always been done the same way- not on air mattresses, but on a pile of sleeping bags, unzipped fully until they were opened flat like quilts, and then with proper quilts and blankets and pillows on top of that, sleeping between whichever layers the wished.

 

Wade was asleep when Bob quietly spoke. “You see them now too, don’t you?” He didn’t say it like a question.

 

Mark glanced sharply at him, and Bob met his gaze unflinchingly. “You mean the non humans?”

 

“Yeah. I wasn’t sure if… I thought that Jack would tell you eventually.”

 

It was the first that Jack’s name had come up since Wade and Mark had arrived. “He didn’t tell me,” Mark said flatly.

 

“But you know.”

 

“I found out.” And he began talking, telling Bob everything, not leaving a thing out. From finding out that Jack was inhuman, to suddenly being able to see others, to the bathroom incident. He told him about the nightmare he’d thought Jack had created, and Jack’s story of his experience with withdrawal, and his subtle manipulation that was less subtle than he’d thought.

 

The impasse. The note. The hole Mark had fallen in. He admitted that Jack’s words still haunted him, that he was so scared he really was a hypocrite, that for all his positivity and acceptance he preached on his channel, that he really was a closed-minded bigot after all.

 

Bob was a great listener- laughing and gasping and frowning at all the right parts. When Mark finished, he just shook his head.

 

“Man. That sucks.” And that was enough- that was all he needed to say, and that was all Mark needed to hear. He didn’t need advice or comfort, he didn’t need Bob to reassure him or take his side or philosophize at him. He just needed someone else to listen, and maybe acknowledge that it did indeed suck.

 

“How do you know about all this?” Mark asked curiously.

 

“Mandy. She’s half orc. Her mom was an orc, dad was human.”

 

“What’s that look like?” Mark said.

 

“Slightly greener than your average human. Toothy. An amazing cook,” Bob said with a grin.

 

“Orcs are amazing cooks?”

 

“That’s what she keeps telling me, but I can’t tell if she’s just being funny, or if that’s a real thing.”

 

Mark laughed. “I was always asking Jack ridiculous questions. Stuff I found online that was obviously not true. Wikipedia says that alps drink milk from the breasts of sleeping women, and when I asked him that, he spit coffee all over the living room,” he remembered fondly.

 

“But is it true?” Bob asked dramatically, and they both laughed a little more.

 

It was quiet for a few moments.

  
  


“I was in love with him.”

  
  


The confession came out quietly. Mark didn’t really intend to say it, but he didn’t regret saying it either. It had become more clear to him as time without Jack passed. The homesick feeling- it wasn’t a place. It was just Jack. Whoever first said that thing about distance and fondness deserved to burn in hell, but they were terribly right. 

 

Bob nodded, and his face showed pity rather than surprise. And the pity came from understanding- they were best friends, and Bob knew that Mark did everything in his life with his whole self, including falling in love. He’d spent more than a few nights supporting Mark as he patched himself back up after each failed relationship. He didn’t just fall in love, he threw himself into it at great speed and with reckless abandon. And when he fell out of love, it was just as violent.

 

“Are you still?”

 

Mark just shrugged, and they simply left it at that. The quiet stretched long, until they were both asleep.

 

With the holidays behind them, Mark continued on. He kept on top of his videos, he did more charity livestreams than ever, he went on a few dates, he played with Chica, he called his Mom and his brother. He decided to learn how to cook, and was soon inviting friends over frequently- because cooking for one just wasn’t as fun. 

 

 

 

It was at one of these dinner soirees that it happened.

 

They were having dinner and chatting. It was Mark, Ryan, Daniel, Ethan, and Tyler. Mark hadn’t spoken with Jack for five months, 4 weeks, and 6 days. Mark had cooked a spinach, feta, and mushroom quiche with homemade puff pastry crust, and a side of chorizo sausage and hash browns. Mark’s second queued video had posted 12 minutes previously, and they were talking about their next charity livestream. Chica was under the table, chewing her favorite yellow rope, and the doorway was full of boots and mittens. Daniel and Ryan sat on the left side of the table, and Ethan and Tyler sat on the right, with Mark on the end. They all had socks on, except for Chica. It was February 23rd, 5:42 PM.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Someone started screaming.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am totally obsessed with Dream Daddy and wish I had a laptop I could game with because I'm watching Mark and Jack play it, but they're both focused on Craig. Which is lovely! Craig is amazing. Also, Nate's voice is a blessing. BUT. Hugo is also amazing and I wanna know more about him! And Mat is so awkward and charming! And what about edge-lord Robert?!? ALL THE DADDIES!!!  
> (ace doesn't mean I can't appreciate the heck out of them daddies mkayyyy)


	22. Honey, If You Thought The Last Chapter Was Rough, You've Got Another Thing Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin  
> ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because the darkiplier vs antisepticeye video today wasn't enough of a throat punch, have some more pain.
> 
> this is because I love you guys <3

Someone started screaming.

  
  
  
  


Mark nearly broke both knees on the underside of the table, then whipped his head around to stare at Daniel, who was the source of the noise. His mouth, thankfully clear of food, was gaping wide like a marionette not in use, and his eyes showed the whites all around. The scream cut off as abruptly as it started, with almost a gagging sound. His mouth snapped shut.

 

He grabbed at his chest, breathing raggedly, and Mark- along with everyone else- jumped to their feet.

 

“Holy fucking fuck. What was that?” Ethan gasped.

 

_ Tyler and Ethan didn’t know _ . Mark suddenly realized they didn’t know. Shit. Shitshitshit. 

 

“I just- I think I choked. On a bit of sausage,” Daniel said weakly. Ryan had him by the elbow and was gently helping him out of his seat.

 

“Here, why don’t we go sit down for a second and have some water? Mark, you got… you…” Ryan trailed off, obviously looking for an excuse to have a minute to speak privately with Daniel.

 

To both of their surprise, Daniel’s eyes were fixed on Mark. “Actually, you can finish dinner, I’d just like some- some cough syrup, please. Mark, do you have any? Could you show me where?”

 

Mark’s head hadn’t caught up with the situation yet, but his heart was a thousand miles ahead of it, racing like a storm.

 

“Yeah. Okay,” he said, and led Daniel down the hall to the bathroom.

 

“Are you fucking- what the hell? Choking? That wasn’t fucking choking, is he…” Mark could hear Ethan exclaiming behind them as they left the room. Ryan would have to take care of it. He couldn’t focus.

 

Daniel immediately grabbed both of his elbows. “Mark, it’s Jack.”

 

Mark flinched, a whole body cringe as though Daniel had struck him. “Is-”

 

“He’s not dead. But he’s… something is… he could be. Soon. He’s just entered a sort of… like a limbo. I don’t know if he got in an accident or if he’s sick or what, but his life just entered the balance.”

 

“Where is he?”

 

Daniel’s eyes narrowed, and he coughed weakly, putting a hand hard over his mouth. “He… I don’t…” he gasped hard, almost like another scream but silent, and shook his head. “North of here.  Not far. Still in California, probably still in LA.”

 

Mark already had his phone out and was calling Jack. He still had him on his favorites list.

 

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Fou-

 

“Hello?”

  
  
  
  


Jack hadn't answered.

  
  
  
  
  


Instead there was a different voice, one so familiar to Mark that he couldn’t help but feel a pinch of tension leave him. A voice he’d heard all his life, one he always knew was safe and comfortable and on his side.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Thomas?”

  
  
  
  
  


“.... Oh, fuck.”

 

 

 

The line went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a short chapter. I didn't really plan on double posting this week at all but I got so many raging and/or panicking messages that I caved. as I've said, it doesn't take much. I do so appreciate you folks.   
> now.  
> GIVE ME ALL YOUR ANGER AND FRUSTRATION AND HATE  
> GIVE IT TO ME  
> LET IT OUT
> 
> LET ME IN


	23. This Isn't A Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have a lovely long chapter as an apology for the last poo fest... and for all the other malarkey that's been going on in both the Markiplier and the JSE communities. It's like one throat punch after another. Mark is a big ol' troll and Jack is a kid with a flamethrower. Yikes.
> 
> Shit is hitting the fan.

“Thomas?”

  
  
  
  
  


“.... Oh, fuck.”

 

The line went dead, and Mark hit redial furiously. 

 

It rang once, then declined the call.

 

He called again.

 

It rang through, all the way to voicemail.

 

He called again.

 

This time, it picked up after two rings.

 

“Okay, I know this is all weird, but it's not- it's not… why are you calling?”

 

“Why are you answering Jack’s phone? Where is Jack?” Mark said sharply. Daniel had his phone out and was clicking around on it with deep concentration.

 

“He’s ran to the bathroom, I can put him on in just a second. Why are you calling him? I thought you two had a- I thought you were done.”

 

Mark knew Thomas. He  _ knew _ Thomas. He was under pressure- casual as he tried to be, Mark could hear the tension in his voice. He was stalling. Something was wrong. He desperately didn’t want to be talking to Mark, but didn’t want to hang up the phone. Mark knew he shouldn’t reveal anything to him.

 

Oh, god.  _ Thomas _ .

 

The situation- which had started with Mark shocked and numb- had suddenly snapped into perfect focus. Jack. Now Thomas. Two of the most important people in his life. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. He felt cold and concentrated, like his mind was going a thousand miles an hour and was completely on task. Panic was stopped dead, and in it’s place was perfect clarity. His family and friend were in trouble. This was not the time for panic. He knew exactly what to do.

 

“Why are you at Jack’s?” 

 

“I wanted to come see you, and I’d been thinking about coming for a while, and Jack called me and wanted to talk with me. Said he wanted to fix things with you and he wanted my advice, so I decided I might as well fly out. I just came here first.”

 

Mark had touched the mute immediately and mouthed to Daniel  _ they're at Jack’s. _ Daniel nodded and continued to work on his phone, and Mark unmuted it.

 

“So I guess that surprise is ruined. He, uh… he really wants you to talk to him. But he's being a big baby about it, he just thinks you belong to him, or some shit. It's bad. I don't think you should talk to him.”

 

It occured to Mark that Thomas may well be in the same danger as Jack. Daniel wouldn’t sense anything to do with him- he had met Thomas only once. But if Jack’s life was threatened, and he was with Thomas, then it made sense that Thomas was in danger as well. Why? How? His sense of urgency tripled.

 

“Why are you calling him, anyways? He even had your contact deleted from his phone. I didn't know it was you.”

 

Mark had another brilliant idea- the adrenaline and determination  to  _ help Jack help Thomas _ was keeping him on his toes.

 

“A banshee screamed.” He said it flatly and without a bit of friendliness, and was rewarded with a long silence.

 

“You… you know?”

 

That was all the confirmation he needed. He gestured to Daniel that they should get going, and they headed out of the bathroom and out to the doorway. He focused on talking to Thomas as he stepped into his shoes and tossed Ryan his hoodie- he met them in the doorway.

 

“Jack showed me, yeah. It was an accident. How did you know?”

 

Thomas explained as Mark went out into the yard and they got into Ryan’s car. Tyler and Ethan’s car was gone.

 

“I actually met her out here, when I came and visited you after Christmas. She’s an orc, and she told me pretty quickly after we started dating. And then I could see them all, and… yeah. Wow, small world. We both found out about it all.” He laughed. It was very forced. Thomas was just as smart and determined as Mark was, but Mark was the actor, the smooth talker, the liar. Thomas was honest and up front, and could’t lie for anything.

 

He was lying. Or hiding something.

 

Perhaps it was a person threatening he and Jack. And perhaps that person was listening to the call. Telling Thomas what to say.

 

He imagined a scene with Jack bound and gagged, and Thomas bound as well, one hand of a shady large figure holding the phone to his ear, the other holding a gun.

 

Mark was the smooth talker, the liar. “Well. I’ll not interrupt your time with Jack- and if you think maybe we shouldn’t reconnect, then I trust you. I’ll want to talk to you later about it too. Just give me a call when you’re done there and we can talk it out and meet up somewhere- but if I don’t answer, shoot me a text. I’m headed out to Dave and Buster’s with a bunch of the guys, you could meet us there. Jack’s safe, you said?”

 

“Yep. Unless a bathroom monster got him.” Lies.

 

“Well. Maybe my banshee pal was screaming about a different Jack, then. Or something. All this secret fairytale magic stuff is pretty weird, it might not be all that precise. It spooked me, when he screamed, but I believe you.”

 

Mark glanced out the window- it was evening, traffic was bad, and they weren’t making good time.

 

“Maybe I’ll go check on him in the bathroom. Do you want to stay on the line with me, just to make sure?”

 

“Nah, I’m about to get in the car and drive the guys. And I trust you. You can send me a text, though.”

 

“Alright, if you’re sure. I’ll call you later, then?”

 

“Will do. Bye.”

 

Mark hung up. Daniel and Ryan both began speaking at once.

 

“Who was-”

 

“Where’s Jack? Is he okay? Who-”

 

“That on the phone, who-?”

 

“My brother answered the phone. Thomas,” Mark said.

 

“What? Why? Doesn’t he live in Cincinnati?”

 

“Is he hurting Jack? Did you get to speak with him?”

 

Mark put his hands up. “Jesus, no, he’s not hurting Jack! He’s- let’s just slow down. Let me talk. Thomas answered the phone. He’s at Jack’s. He said he came to California to see me, but ended up getting a call from Jack first, because Jack wanted to talk about reconnecting with me. He said Jack had run to the bathroom, and asked why I called. I told him a banshee screamed- up until now, I didn’t know if he knew anything. I wanted to see what he knew. And apparently he knows about everything now, he met some girl- but he knew what I meant the second I said it. And he said Jack was fine, and told me everything is fine. But he sounded stressed and was lying the whole time. I know Thomas, and he’s a shitty liar and a shitty actor. He sounded like he was under pressure. I think both he and Jack are under the same kind of threat.”

 

“Fuck,” Ryan said softly. “You’re sure?”

 

“Positive.”

 

“Why would someone be threatening both Jack and Thomas?” Daniel asked slowly.

 

“I know. I fucking know, okay? The only connection those two have is me. They’ve never met, they’ve not got any of the same anything, the only thing that connects them both is me, so this all has to be my fault,” Mark snapped. He didn’t want to feel like it was his fault, he didn’t want any of this to happen, he didn’t know why it was happening, and the focus and intense clarity that his adrenaline had brought to the situation was starting to boil higher, into anger. He was furious. This all was ridiculous and he was going to have to fix it all, because apparently it was his fault. His fault. Therefore, the responsibility to fix it fell to him. 

 

“Look, I’m just trying to figure out what we should expect, going into this. A hostage situation? Some kind of chemical gas? Poison? A guy with guns? Some crazy groupie girl? Maybe Thomas was telling the truth, he was over to Jack’s for something normal, and someone came for Jack, and he’s in the crossfire.”

 

“Are there like- don’t laugh- magical creatures hunters? Like, do people try to kill you guys?” Mark asked.

 

“No. That’s not a thing, that’s never been a thing, because we’re really careful about who knows things. It’s not like TV- people don’t accidentally see a monstery looking guy out of the corner of their eye and make it their life task to kill them. There’s no secret fairy government or ruler over all the nonhuman species, there’s no ministry of magic, there’s no kings or ancient masters or any shit like that. And there’s no secret hunter groups,” Daniel said firmly. “If someone was going around killing nonhumans, I think I would be one of the first to know. Death is kind of my thing. And my whole family’s thing.”

 

“I just had to make sure,” Mark said with a shrug. “Okay. Okay, so it sounds like… like Thomas was being forced to lie. He sounded like he was under a lot of pressure, he was really worried and was trying really hard to make me believe him. So he knew he was in trouble. I’m thinking a kidnapper is the most likely. He was well aware of the danger.”

 

“Did he say anything weird? Like- hide some hint about what’s going on in the conversation?”

 

Mark racked his brains. “I don’t- there was nothing. Nothing that I could pick up on, anyways. If he gave me a clue to what’s going on, it was too subtle for me. He just sounded rattled, too shook up to think of that.”

 

“How are we going into this? Should I be driving the car through the front window like some fast and furious shit, or pull up with screeching tires and jump out running, or park far away and sneak in?” Ryan asked.

 

“Sneak in,” Daniel said, and Mark nodded.

 

“Also… should we be calling the police?”

 

“No,” Daniel said immediately. “I texted a faun that I know who’s LAPD. She said she’d get a couple of guys in the know and be in the area.”

 

“Should we be calling anyone else? I mean, any non-humans who can do anything helpful.”

 

“I can’t think of anyone or anything else helpful now.”

 

“We’ll be there in just a minute,” Ryan said tersely.

 

Mark unbuckled. “Park a bit down the street. Daniel, you’re staying in the car.”

 

“I’m  _ what _ ?!”

 

“If this goes sideways, you’ll sense it, and you can call the real police, or your faun friend. We can’t all just run in here and risk all getting caught. You’re our backup, and there’s no point in me or Ryan staying, because we won’t know what’s going on in there. You’ll be able to have an idea, right?”

 

“I- yeah.”

 

“Good. Get up in the driver’s seat, in case we’ve got to get out of here quick.” Maybe it was the years of video gaming, or just human instinct, but Mark felt like he should be slinging a machine gun strap over his shoulder and checking the bullets in a handgun, or strapping a sword to his hip, or arming himself somehow. He had nothing. 

 

_ This isn’t a video game _ , he silently reminded himself. The car was quiet for the last moments as they arrived- all three of them readying themselves. This was reality. He always imagined this kind of reality would be exhilarating, thrilling, full of cool scenes and cliche fights and badass stuff. He didn't feel thrilled or cool or badass. He felt helpless and queasy and clammy.


	24. Nailed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing fanfiction for ten years, I've accumulated a whole arsenal of writing tools, I've practiced and taken critique and comments and read other folks stuff and learned and worked hard to improve my writing and to become a stronger writer  
> and this is what I chose to do with that power.
> 
> Sorry, boys. I love you guys, but... I also love being cruel. RIP Mark and Jack.

Ryan parallel parked two houses up. Mark and Ryan slipped out of the car, outwardly calm and normal, internally panicking and stressing.

 

“I'm going to go knock.”

 

“Are you stupid?” Mark hissed.

 

Ryan shook his head, but kept his eyes forward. “There's a sliding glass door in the back of the house, you go that way. Hopefully it's not locked. I'll go knock and distract whoever answers. There might be more than just one person, but at least there will be one less who's gonna see you. Do it. Go.” Mark had only heard Ryan speak with such certainty and authority once, when his dog Lego had been hit by a car and he told the vet to save the dog, money was no option, do whatever was necessary.

 

Mark simply obeyed, because they were getting close to the house and because he didn't have a better plan. He skittered behind the house, feeling a bit silly and obvious, and found the glass door. He stayed close to the house and peered inside carefully.

 

He didn't see anyone, so he waited until he heard the doorbell, then slid it open and got inside.

 

He knew where Jack and Thomas would be. Because if he was going to kidnap or hurt someone, he would do it in the conveniently soundproofed room. He had never been to Jack’s house, since he hadn't seen the guy in months, but saw the closed door down the hall with the whiteboard on it and knew that was his best bet. Jack and his whiteboards. Some things never changed.

 

The message on the board gave Mark goosebumps. He knew Jack liked to write himself inspirational messages, sometimes quotes or song lyrics, and this was no different. Jack loved Tool, but Mark wondered what him choosing this particular lyric said about his mental state.

 

_embrace this moment_

_remember_

_we are eternal_

_all this pain is an illusion_

 

He also wondered why the universe insisted on being such an ironic bitch, but that was a problem for another time.

 

He stared at the knob. Closed. Would it be locked? He could probably pick the lock. He'd played Skyrim. How different could it be? Just rotate the pick and twist the- but he had no tools.

 

The knob turned easily and silently in his hand. Unlocked.

 

He held the door closed. Did he just swing it open? Quickly or slowly? What if someone was in there with Thomas and Jack?

 

Minimize his exposure, maximize surprise. He threw the door open quickly, heart racing, already lifting his fists to be ready to fight.

 

Jack was the only one in the room. He was in his recording chair, the green one, and had tape over his mouth. Mark rushed forward, closing the door noiselessly behind himself, and picked at the corner of the tape. He knew he was in a soundproof room, but he whispered anyways.

 

“Jack? Jack! I'm gonna get you out of here, c'mon,” he whispered. Jack's eyes flew open at Mark's voice, and held still as Mark finally got a corner of the tape up and pulled it off.

 

“Mark? Th’fuck-”

 

“Jack, where's Thomas? How many people are holding you guys? You can tell me everything later, but now we've just gotta find Thomas and go.”

 

Jack was shaking his head, and Mark gestured at him. There was nothing tying him to the-

 

holy fuck.

 

Jack was unbound. Mark had seen that immediately. No rope or tape other than his mouth, no zip ties or chain.

 

But he wasn't freed.

 

His hands were palm down on the arms of his chair. They were smouldering lightly, and hissing like a grill.

  


Through each hand was a nail.

 

They weren't shiny normal thin nails. They were dull and dark metal, and had something scratched into the head, which was far larger than a normal nail. The skin around the wound, where each had been driven through,  was charred and painful looking. Mark could smell cooking flesh.

 

“-them out, please Mark, please, before he comes back, it hurts.” Mark realized Jack had been speaking, whimpering almost, and flinched. Jack's eyes were bloodshot and full of tears, his nose was running, his lips were dry and cracked. He was shivering lightly.

 

“Those are… what?” Mark said dumbly. He was scared to touch them.

 

“Nails. Pure iron quenched in goat's milk with a spell over them, they burn alps and trap us, please, Mark, they won't hurt you, just please get them out please-”

 

“Okay, alright, I just- okay. Let me just-” He tentatively touched one, and when it didn't burn him the way it was burning Jack, he grabbed and pulled straight up like he was uncorking a bottle of fine wine. It jerked out easily, slippery with blood and ash, and Jack gasped so hard it was almost a scream. Mark pulled the other out, and Jack immediately pulled his hands to his chest, curling around them, dry sobbing lightly. The wounds, the _holes in his hands_ , they were sluggishly bleeding, even around the burned scabbed wounds. Mark couldn't stand to look at them, but couldn't look away either. Black, gray, red, shining and cracked.

 

“Right. We've got to- got to go,” Jack whispered, standing and staggering a step.

 

“Your tarnkappe, we can't lose it. And Thomas is here too.”

 

Jack's eyes had been squinted in pain, but opened wide again. “No, you don't- it's _Thomas_ , Mark.

 

“Yeah, we're gonna find him-”

 

“No. _It's Thomas.”_

 

Mark realized what Jack was saying, but didn't- it just wasn't translating. Jack needed to go, he needed to help Mark find Thomas, they needed to go and call the police and fix his hands, they needed to go but they needed to find Thomas, and oh god, Jack's hands, his _hands_ -

 

The door opened behind Mark and he spun around, sucking in air and putting his hands up, getting ready to… do what?

 

Thomas had opened the door.

 

He looked unscathed.

 

“Thank God Ryan found you, cmon, let's get the hell out,” Mark breathed, instinctively relaxing at the sight of his brother, unhurt and freed, but something was making the hairs on his neck stand up. Something wasn't right.

 

He had a hat on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES.
> 
> (i am sooooo funny with my chapter titles amirite? wink wink.) (it's funny because nailed means being hit) (but he's not being hit he literally got nailed) (nailed by a nail) (he he he ho ha ha haaa)


	25. Into The Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting a day late, but I wrote and re-wrote this scene so many times in the past two days that I just didn't feel right posting it until I was satisfied. I'm not overjoyed, I still feel like it's sloppier than most of my... well. These types of scenes, I take pride in writing really well, and I'm not sure I achieved that here... anyways. Read on and I'll see you at the end.

He had a hat on.

 

Jack grabbed Mark’s wrist, pulling him back, away from Thomas.

 

“ **Let go of him. Sit down. Don't speak, or touch him** ,” Thomas said. 

 

He had Jack's hat on.

 

He had Jack’s hat on?

 

Jack bowed his head, releasing Mark and sitting back in the chair, curling around his mangled hands again. Mark watched uncomprehendingly. Nothing made any sense. He felt nothing. Maybe a little frustrated. Could someone please tell him what was going on? Nothing… nothing made any sense.

 

What was Thomas doing? He… he was wearing Jack's hat. He was unharmed and unbound. He looked surprised to see Mark, but not relieved or happy. He looked chagrined. 

 

“Mark? Why don't we go sit and have a talk,” Thomas said gently.

 

Mark was starting to realize what was going on, and his blood ran cold. The mild confusion and frustration was being replaced by a dawning horror, a sense of impending doom. Was… this was… Thomas?

 

“But- Jack…”

 

“Aw, Mark.” And it was so familiar, so comforting and normal, a part of Mark's life since before he could even remember. That voice he'd grown up hearing, and saying that-  _ aw, Mark- _ after bike crashes and demands for expensive video games and stupid ideas and bandaids and stomach bugs and finding Mark sobbing in the basement archive of their father’s life when that life had been taken from them.

 

The dissonance of the comfort and fear made Mark feel numb and distant, so he allowed Thomas to put a hand on his shoulder and guide him down the hall to the living room, and gently push him into a chair.

 

“Why are you trying to help it?” Thomas asked. Quietly. Kindly.

 

“What?”

 

“The alp. You shouldn't still be under it's control. I have it's hat. Is this like- you know what Stockholm syndrome is, right?”

 

“I don't have Stockholm syndrome, I want to know why my best friend is nailed to a chair, and why you have his hat, and who's responsible for all this.” Mark was starting to feel frustrated again, but passing that, going right into anger. Could someone just tell him what the fuck was going on?

 

“But… you know what he is. He's an alp,” Thomas said.

 

“I know that, that doesn't explain why he's being tortured,” Mark all but snarled.

 

Thomas scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look. I guess maybe you don't know all of it, but… Jack is an alp. A nightmare elf, essentially. He can shapeshift and go into people's dreams and possess them. They manipulate people, they're powerful and wicked.”

 

“Thomas, what the  _ fuck _ are you talking about? I know that all, but he doesn't- He’s not  _ evil _ , for fucks sake, and he doesn't possess people!”

 

“You only know what he's told you.” Thomas got up and began to pace in front of the wall. Mark shook his head.

 

“No. No, I know other non humans, and they said he's not evil, he doesn't control people! How do you even know this? Who told you alps are evil?”

 

“Someone who's powerful enough to not fall under his control.”

 

“No, someone who's a racist fuck who's tricked you into… into hurting someone! His fucking hands…”

 

“There aren't a lot of good ways to keep an alp contained.”

 

“But you have his hat!”

 

“Precautions, then. This isn't a movie, I'm not CIA, I need to cover my ass. Listen,” Thomas said. Now it wasn't the comforting big brother, it was the commanding big brother. “Jack is an alp. You were under his control, but luckily, you two separated somehow- I didn't know about any of this until after he'd already moved out. And then he called me, saying he wanted to reconnect to you but didn't know how, and wanted some advice or help from me, and I knew that I couldn't let him back into your life, so I came out here. To stop him.”

 

Mark stared at him with his mouth hanging open for a moment, then snorted and exclaimed, “Are you fucking  _ crazy? _ Thats- this isn't a movie or a tv show or a comic, Tom, this is fucking reality!! Jack isn't some mind controlling monster! He's my friend! He was even your friend too, before you fucking nailed his hands-” Mark cut himself off and stood. “No, you know what? I'm gonna get Jack and leave. Leave him alone, I'll get him some medical help, and I'll send some folks who can vouch for him  _ not being a mind controlling monster _ .”

 

“I can't let you do that,” Thomas said quietly.

 

Mark ignored him, marching back to Jack’s recording room and grabbing his arm, pulling him to his feet. He shook like a leaf.

 

“Thomas. Give me the hat.”

 

“No. Mark, he's manipulating you.”

 

“Fuck off and let me help him! He's hurt!”

 

“Bro, don't you get it? He's tricking you. I’m trying to help you!” Something had set in Thomas’s face, a decision, as he spoke. He wasn’t looking at Mark anymore.

 

Things went… skewed.

  
  
  


Mark played video games for a living, and he'd seem some weird shit, but it was all distanced by a screen and speakers and controllers. He was excellent at willing suspension of disbelief, but his subconscious always knew the difference between the weird and the real. 

 

So when the wall swallowed the doorway and became a seamless box, his mind immediately began looking for the screen, or the lens glare, or the edge of the frame.

 

_ This can’t be real. _

 

“ **Don't speak** ,” Thomas said, silencing whatever Jack was going to say, the command of the tarnkappe crackling through his voice. 

 

Mark flinched back toward Jack, away from the now seamless walls. The air felt like it was popping faintly against his skin, and the air smelled of leaves and mud. The room continued to change- the walls became trees, and the trees became leaves, and the leaves became sky with dewy mottled sunshine.

 

If he hadn’t been screaming inside his head and rapidly going into a complete and total panicked state, he would’ve appreciated the impossible beauty of the glade he now seemed to be in.

 

He was in Jack’s recording room.

 

Now he was in the woods.

 

_ This can’t be real. _

 

Something soft brushed against his shin and he flinched again.

 

“What the fuck, Thomas. What is this?” Mark whispered. He was panting, breathing hard, shaking. He could barely think. He could barely breathe.

 

“Its fine. It's all fine. Mark, you're safe, I'm safe, it's okay.” Thomas was speaking calmly and kindly, like he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. His voice came from nowhere- Mark was alone in the glade with Jack. LA was gone, the studio was gone, Thomas was gone.

 

“ _ It’s not fucking fine, Thomas, it's not- I’m-” _ He gasped again as he felt something pass behind his knees.

 

Jack's eyes were wide and meaningful, and he put his hand on Mark’s back.

 

“Don't touch him,” Thomas scolded, and suddenly he was there, stepping forward. Mark moved at him as well, reaching out-

-Thomas ducked back away from Mark's outstretched hand, but Mark wasn't aiming for his face-

-Mark swatted his hat neatly off his head.

 

Jack caught it.

 

“ _ No! _ ” Thomas cried, and his voice had an echo. Two screams at the same time. The world flickered. Mark could hear Thomas shouting, and a woman’s voice, and a shrill howl that wasn't human.

 

Jack was gone, and a light gray cloud of vapor was rushing at Thomas. Mark could only watch as it flowed in his brother’s nose and mouth and ears, until it wasn't visible anymore. Thomas collapsed, and Mark lunged for him, but he was in a cage in the woods, barred in, trapped, contained.

 

Everything was still for five rapid heartbeats.

 

The sun still shone through the leaves, dappled light in a beautiful, impossible forest, containing two brothers and an alp.

 

Thomas stood.

 

He looked down at his hands, then back up at Mark.

 

His eyes were blue and the pupils were goat aspect.

 

“Mark? I’m… oh. I think I’ve got him.” He laughed once, and put a hand on his hat. “I’ve got him! The alp, I think I’ve got it’s power now, it’s okay! You can take down the-,”

 

He covered his mouth and coughed once.

 

“I’ve got-,”

 

He coughed again. Then began to choke. He fell to his knees, and Mark backed up as far as he could, contained as he was in the cage. Thomas was coughing and gasping, gripping the grass with white fingers, and then he didn’t seem to be breathing at all, just shaking and making a terrible gagging noise, and then even that stopped and-

 

“Drop the spell or I'll kill him.”

 

There was an Irish accent to Thomas’s words.

 

“I'll kill Mark.” There wasn't a person with the voice that replied, but it rang through the forest with utter certainty and no hesitation.

 

“And then I'll kill Thomas and both of us will be alone. I am within- you are without. I'm faster. I’m- I'll do it.”

 

“Jack?” Mark whispered.

 

“Mark! Just stay calm, stay still, she'll let us go. Please! I don't want to hurt him. And I don't want you to hurt Mark.”

 

“You are a nightmare creature. I am nobility.”

 

“I don't believe that shite and neither do you. Can we just release our hostages and move on?”

 

“I don't want to hurt anyone.”

 

“Right, same. So… I know you think I'm a monster. I'm not! I didn't even know I could do this! So to convince you otherwise, and as a gesture of good faith- I'll let Thomas go first. I'll come out of him, and you turn your thing off, and we walk away.”

 

“I can't let you hurt anyone.”

 

“I haven't! You're the only one who's hurting people. They're brothers, they're not supposed to go through this kind of shit! I don't want to hurt anyone!” 

 

It was silent for a long moment.

 

“Look at what you’ve done. They’re supposed to be brothers. They love each other. And now look,” Jack said quietly.

 

The voice replied.

 

“Leave us.”

 

At the woman's words, the room came back. Just like that. No more patchy sunshine, no greenery, no dirt, no cage. Walls, a floor, a doorway.

 

Jack staggered into Mark, reforming hard, and Mark caught him.

 

He ran.

 

Half supporting Jack, skittering away from the small furred creature behind him, around Thomas’s slowly stirring form. He had Jack, and he ran.

 

Ryan was coming in the front door, but he saw Mark and Jack and grabbed them, helping them to the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fractured reality and massive displays of power- these are scenes I take a lot of pride in writing well. Like the nightmare, and like a few scenes in other fics I'm writing right now. I feel like it's self-centered and cocky to say that I write these well, but I've gotten enough response from folks to have that confidence. I've been writing for over 10 years, folks! Remember back when fanfiction dot net was the thing? Yep, I wrote several dozen fics for that. I"ve got an old hard drive that's got well over a hundred documents on it, most of them half written and never shared anywhere. My google drive folder right now has a little over 80 docs in in. I'm not really saying this for you- I'm saying this to try and convince myself that I am a good writer. I am very good at belittling myself and I try and give myself compliments sometimes. Then I like to spend hours and hours picking myself apart and presenting evidence contrary to whatever compliment I think I might have deserved. Anyone else do that? Wooo, that got personal for a second. Sorry.
> 
> Anyways. That chapter might not make total sense yet, but at least I didn't leave you on a cliffhanger of the level the last few chapters have been, right? This story arc will continue for a while yet, and we'll get answers soon. Just hold on to your butts and try to keep calm. <3

**Author's Note:**

> ((I am a sucker for peer pressure so if you leave a review I'm very likely to cave and post early. I'm such a people pleaser I just can't help it! So if you like it, if you wanna guess what's going to happen, if you wanna give me ideas/corrections/critique, it would make me smile miles wide!))
> 
> Also, I have a tumblr:   
> thefauxfox   
> Feel free to drop in and say hi!


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